A Weekend in Bruges
by paganpunk2
Summary: An unavoidable business trip forces Bruce to leave Dick at home. With Alfred out of town and most of his babysitting candidates occupied, who can Bruce trust during his absence? Part of the Spark in the Dark series. Bruce/Dick fluff, Clark/Dick bonding, Clark/Bruce jealousy issues. T for language and later violence. Awesome cover art courtesy of rangermaid (thank you!).
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel to 'Of Friends and Foes'! This story can be read as a standalone, although some knowledge of the events in 'Of Friends and Foes' and 'The Princely Pardon' will help you get a bit more out of it. For timeline purposes, this story is set roughly nine-ten weeks after the end of 'Of Friends and Foes,' putting Gotham at the beginning of spring.**

**Before going any further, I want to take a moment to give credit where credit is very much due. The basic premise for this story came from a discussion between myself and fellow Dick Grayson lover Soul Music, who was kind enough to permit me to use the idea. I had not originally planned to write the story as a part of the 'Of Friends and Foes' universe, but after the way that story ended it fit so beautifully that I just had to. So, thank you so much, Soul Music!**

**On another, smaller note, I've decided that for the purposes of this universe Dick's birthday is March 21st. I love the idea of his having been born at the spring equinox, when the northern hemisphere, at least, returns to light, so I'm running with it. I don't recall stating anything different regarding his date of birth in either of the late stories, but please correct me if I'm wrong.**

**As always, happy reading.**

* * *

It wasn't even six in the morning, and Bruce Wayne was already having a bad day.

It started when Dick crawled into bed with him. Normally he didn't mind that, regardless of the hour, and he assumed that the boy had simply had a nightmare and wanted comforting. "Hey, kiddo," he whispered into the dark as he felt small knees make their way across the mattress. "C'mere."

"…Bruce," came back, his voice uncharacteristically melancholic.

"Hush," he quieted him, pulling him close with one arm and gently running his fingertips up and down his spine. Dampness marked his shoulder as a few tears fell from the child's eyes. "It's okay." Under usual circumstances he would have asked what the bad dream had been about, prodding for details until he could figure out the right thing to say. After the events of the previous evening, however, he just didn't possess the energy, having spent it all putting Joker back behind bars. _Thank god you weren't with me, chum,_ he thought gratefully as he held him. _It's bad enough that he probably knows about your existence, from rumor if nothing else. I don't want you meeting him until it absolutely cannot be avoided._

Batman had gotten through the villain's goon squad with only a few scrapes and bruises, but Leslie, who had consented to watch Dick for a few hours so that the vigilante could deal with the escaped psychopath without endangering his young partner, had insisted on a full examination. Finally admitting that he would be sore in the morning but was fine otherwise, she'd left them to their own devices, giving the boy a quick kiss on the forehead that left him blushing bashfully. "Do _not_ hesitate to call me if you have to go back out after someone else like that before Alfred gets back," she'd commanded as she stood at the front door.

"I won't," Bruce had promised, and he'd meant it. Alfred being out of the country for a family emergency over the last week had made things difficult, to say the least – the billionaire had been leaving work early every day in order to pick the boy up after school, and patrols had to be cut short to ensure he got enough sleep for class the next day – but he wasn't comfortable leaving the almost-ten year old home alone. Despite that, he absolutely refused to take him along on attempts to capture any of Gotham's truly nasty criminals. Joker was the last person he wanted his son to run across at this point, but there were plenty of others in line right behind him, and if it came down to it he would leave him behind by himself before he would knowingly throw him in front of one of them. _Not yet. Not until I have to. No matter how well he did with Sawyer, I know what the others would do to him if they got the chance. Just…no. Not yet._

"Bruce…I don't feel good," a low murmur brought him out of his thoughts.

His eyes narrowed. "…You didn't have a nightmare?"

"Huh-uh."

"What's the matter?"

"My stomach feels bad," he half-moaned, wrapping his arms around his midsection and trying to somehow snuggle closer. "And I'm cold. And my skin feels icky."

"Icky, huh? Have other kids at school been sick lately?"

"Yeah…Mark, he's my lab partner, he had to leave morning science yesterday cause he threw up in the garbage can."

"It sounds like maybe you picked something up." He paused. "…Do you feel like you might throw up?"

"…Trying not to," he said, determination evident despite the mewl in his voice.

_Oh, kiddo._ He let his hand still on the narrow back for a moment. _Great. Your heart rate's up, your stomach's off, you're cold, you're miserable…why couldn't Alfred's mother have waited a few more weeks to break her hip?_ "All right," he sat up, pulling the boy with him. He leaned limply against his shoulder, making no effort to hold himself upright. "Come on," Bruce yawned, standing and picking him up. "Let's get you some medicine. I think there's some in my bathroom." _I hope there is. I don't want to make you wait for me to go down to the cave for something._

Setting his son on the counter, he rifled through the cabinet and finally found what he was looking for. "Dosage information for children under age 12: consult a physician," he read aloud. _Son of a bitch. Of course._ He glanced at the wide, afflicted blue eyes that were fixed on him. "…Can you age a couple years real fast?" he teased softly, trying to draw out a smile.

"Noooo…" His pout deepened.

"Hey, it's okay," he quieted. _Okay, so humor doesn't work. Maybe I can distract him. _"We'll just do a little math. You're nine, almost ten," he smiled, hoping the reminder that his birthday was in less than a week would cheer him, at least, "but we'll go with nine to be on the safe side. So nine is three-quarters of twelve, right?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, hands still clutching his sides as he turned slightly green.

"And this says the dosage for twelve year olds is two tablespoons. So how much do you think I should give you?"

"One and a half," he answered immediately. "Bruce…"

"Hold on, I'm pouring it."

There wasn't time for him to hold on any longer, though. He slid down to the floor with far less grace than he normally possessed, rushed the two steps to the toilet, and emptied his stomach. A moment later there was a strong arm around his waist, supporting him as he continued to heave and sob. "…'M sorry," he pled.

"Hush. Just hush, it's all right. Do you feel a little better now?" When his only reply was a series of tiny, upset gasps, he pulled him away from the mess and held him close, leaning back against the tub. "It's okay," he snagged a towel from the rack and wiped his face clean. "You're sick, it's not your fault. I know you tried not to, but sometimes it's better to just let it out."

"I still don't feel good."

"Yeah, I know. Let's get some medicine in you." Flushing the toilet and setting the boy back on the counter, he handed him the dosing cup. "Here. Drink it fast, it doesn't taste very good."

"…Why is it _pink_?" he wrinkled his nose.

"I hate that, too. But take it anyway, it will make you feel better."

Still making a face, Dick tipped it back, nearly gagging as the thick liquid slid down his throat. "Eeww…"

"Here, give me the cup back." Bruce rinsed it and poured out a little mouthwash. "Swish this around for a minute. Don't swallow it." He watched as he obeyed, spitting it out into the sink when he was done. "Better?"

"…Yeah. It's all tingly."

"Let's get you back in bed," he swept him up again and returned to the other room. Once he'd bundled the boy in blankets, he pulled the trash can close. "This is right here in case you feel sick again, okay?" he showed him, holding it up.

"Where're you going?"

"I'm getting you some water and crackers. I'll be right back, I promise. Stay in bed, understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Dropping a kiss on his temple, he left the room and hurried down the stairs towards the kitchen. _Might as well call into the office while I'm here,_ he sighed to himself. _I sure as hell can't send him to school in this condition._ He was just reaching for the phone when it rang. "Who the hell is calling me at five in the morning?" he asked the shadowy kitchen. "What?" he snatched up the receiver. "It's early and I'm busy. Talk."

"Good morning to you too, Bruce," Lucius' exhausted-sounding voice hit his ear.

"…Lucius? What's going on?"

"Is Alfred still out of town? You don't normally answer."

"He is. Listen, I can't make our meeting this afternoon. Dick woke up with a bad flu, there's no way I can leave him today."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "…Bruce, that just makes what I have to tell you even harder."

"…What?" he leaned against the counter, his unoccupied hand rising to massage his forehead. _Oh, yeah, let's just see how much worse this day can get…_

"I had a bit of an accident last night. Nothing too serious," he added quickly, "but I slipped on a patch of ice in the driveway and broke my arm pretty badly. They aren't sure yet if they're going to need to operate. It wouldn't be such a big deal if-"

"-If it wasn't for Bruges," he nodded. The final documents signing between Wayne Enterprises and a major Belgian banking and accounting firm was scheduled to take place in two days, and due to strict regulations regarding money control for foreign corporations doing business in the EU the contracts had to be completed on time. Lucius had insisted that they search out a company that could handle all of their current European accounts as well as absorb any new investments they chose to make in the near future, and while both he and Bruce were pleased with the group they'd chosen, the search had taken so long that they were in danger of committing several legal violations if they tried to reschedule. "Well, send Hawkins, then, he knows what going on," the billionaire suggested one of the other man's protégés.

"I can't. They're insisting on either a CEO or a CFO. So…you or I. They said their company regulations require it."

"…You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry, Bruce. Even if they weren't talking about surgery, there's no way I could manage a trans-Atlantic flight with this arm. It's going to have to be you."

"Lucius, he's _sick_. It would be bad enough if Alfred were here, but what am I supposed to do, leave him home alone? Don't we have _any_ wiggle room on the timeline? A couple of days, even?"

"It's Thursday morning. The documents are due at 8am on Monday, the signing is scheduled for tomorrow, and none of the people we need work on weekends. There's no way. If we miss that deadline…"

"All right, all right," he closed his eyes tightly. "I get it. There's no other option. What time does the flight leave?"

"Four this afternoon. I'll take care of getting the ticket changed, don't worry about that."

"…Are you sure?"

"Just take care of your boy, Bruce."

"…Thanks, Lucius. I'll see you when I get back." Hanging up, he groaned. "Why does the shit always hit the fan all at once?"

Back upstairs, a glass of water and a sleeve of crackers in one hand and his mobile in the other, he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot. "…Dicky? You still awake, chum?" Hearing no answer, he set everything down on the dresser and moved silently to the lump under the covers. "Hey," he breathed, sitting beside the boy and stroking his hair. "You didn't answer me. I thought you were asleep."

"…I threw up again," he confessed, eyes partially closed.

"In the garbage can?" _Please say yes, I don't have changing the entire bed in me right now._

"Uh-huh…"

"That's okay." _So you lost all the medicine you took. Great. _"How about you drink some water for me, and maybe eat a couple crackers? Can you manage that, do you think?"

He nodded pathetically. "I can try." Having Bruce's arm wrap around him securely once he was sitting helped him concentrate a little, as did the first few slow sips of water he took. "…You were gone a long time," he commented as the world steadied.

"I…got a call from Lucius," the billionaire sighed, knowing it wouldn't do any good to keep it from him. "I have to fly to Belgium this afternoon."

"…You're leaving me all alone?" He sounded so heartbroken that Bruce's eyes pricked with tears.

"No, of course not. I'll find someone to watch you. I'm sorry, kiddo, I'm _so_ sorry, but there's literally nothing I can do about it. Lucius broke his arm and can't go, the company I'm meeting with won't let anyone but him or I sign, and if we don't get everything wrapped up tomorrow we'll get into trouble and have to pay a lot of really nasty fines."

"Can't I go with you? Belgium's not that far from England, maybe we could see Alfred. He could watch me, I know his mom's sick but it would only be for a few hours, right?"

"You're sick," he shook his head. "Otherwise I'd say yes and just take you with me, but you can't fly like this. Besides, I think you might be old enough to need a passport."

"I have a passport."

"…You do?" he frowned down at him.

"Uh-huh. We used to do shows in Canada in the summer, and we had to have passports to get back into the US."

"Huh. Well, I still have no idea where Alfred put it. Plus, you're sick."

"I'll be so good, though, Bruce, I promise, I'll just throw up in the little airplane bags, and I won't cry or anything, and _please_ don't leave me here…" One of his hands clutched at his guardian's fingers, begging.

"Dicky, _no_," he told him gently but firmly. "You need to stay here and get well. I hate it too – the last thing on earth I want to do right now is leave you – but I don't have a choice."

"Can't you just pay the fines?" his lip trembled. "I mean, how much are they?"

"They're…a lot. And yes, technically I could just pay them and stay here, but there's more at stake than just some money. You know if it was as simple as just writing a check I wouldn't even consider going. But there's also Wayne Enterprises' reputation, and our relationship with the people who are going to be handling our European accounts. Technically some of our overseas operations could be forced to close until the paperwork is complete if we don't meet the deadline, and that means the workers won't get paid. If they don't get paid, they can't pay their bills, and…well, you understand, right?"

"I do, but…" he bowed his head, "I still don't want you to go."

Taking his glass and setting it aside, Bruce pulled him closer. "I wish there was another way, chum. I'm sorry. But I'll be back as soon as I sign the paperwork, okay? I promise, it'll just be for a day or two."

"…Who's going to watch me while you're gone?" he asked sadly, resigning himself to the fact that the man was going. _It's not that I don't understand why, I just…I just don't want you to go…_

"I don't know yet. I still have to figure that out." He squeezed him. "Why don't you lie down and try to sleep while I work on it?"

"I can sleep when you're gone. I want to stay awake with you."

…_What else could possibly happen to make this more difficult?_ the billionaire moaned internally. "Well, do you want to at least lie down and listen while I start calling people? I won't leave, I just want you to be comfortable."

"No," he shifted until he was curled entirely in his guardian's lap. "I'm comfy here."

"I, uh…I left my phone on the other side of the room."

"Take me with you?"

Sighing, he lifted him, retrieved the phone, and returned to the bed. "You're _sure_ you don't want to lie down?" _This process is going to be a lot easier if I'm not trying to hold you and dial at the same time._

"I wanna stay awake with you," he whined. _I'm not gonna get to see you for two whole days…you'll be so far away…_

"Okay, okay!" he conceded. "But tell me if you change your mind, okay?"

"I'm not going to change my mind." He craned his neck. "If I fall asleep, will you please wake me up?"

"_No, _I will not. If you fall asleep, it's because you need to rest."

"…Fine. I'll just stay awake on my own, then," he said stubbornly.

Loathing himself entirely, Bruce flipped open his phone and began to pore through his contacts list. _Alfred's going to kill me for this, but what the hell else am I supposed to do?_ he lamented as the first number rang hollowly. _Pick up, Leslie. I have the world's biggest favor to ask you…_


	2. Chapter 2

"Dr. Thompkins speaking," a harried voice answered on the fifth ring.

"Leslie, it's Bruce."

There was a short pause. "Oh, god, he's out again _already_? What is _wrong_ with the criminal justice system in this city?"

The billionaire's lip quirked amusedly. Everyone who met Leslie Thompkins outside of a professional setting quickly learned that the state of the Gotham courts and health care politics were the two topics that never failed to set her off. "No. I have a favor to ask."

"…You, actually asking for a favor directly?" she asked incredulously. "I _have_ been awake too long in one stretch."

"I wouldn't be doing this if I had any other choice," he said tightly.

"All right, fine," she placated, hearing the tension underlining his words. "I'm sorry. It's just that the clinic's been overflowing with sick kids since yesterday evening. I came here straight from watching Dick last night, and it's been crazy."

"So this flu is widespread, then?"

"Yes. From the cases we've been seeing, it onsets fast. Some of these poor babies are going from smiling and laughing when they get on the school bus to vomiting when they get off. It's been almost entirely children, too; I've only seen a couple of adults come through with the same symptoms, and probably ten times that number of patients who were under thirteen. Why do you ask?"

"…Dick's got it."

"I can't leave, Bruce. I'm sorry, I wish I could come help you take care of him – I know you're probably kind of lost without Alfred - but there's no way. We're drowning in cases." She paused again. "Is he okay, or is he pretty bad?"

"He's…somewhere in the middle," he glanced down at the boy, who was watching his mouth move with glassy eyes. "Kind of in and out of it. He's thrown up a couple times, including right after I gave him medicine. I haven't taken his temperature, but he's definitely warmer than he should be."

"Has he had any liquids?"

"He drank some water right before I called you, and he hasn't lost it. Yet," he added.

"Well, if he keeps vomiting, I'd advise you to bring him in. Dehydration's the biggest problem we see with any flu-like outbreak, and this one's nasty."

"Yeah, I'd love to, but the problem is that I have to fly to Europe in less than twelve hours," he grimaced.

"…Don't you dare take that child on an airplane! Not with this flu, he'll be completely desiccated by the time you land!"

"I'm not taking him, Leslie. I was hoping you could babysit."

"What's so damn important in Europe, anyway?" she demanded, beginning to sound angry. He gave her the run down, and by the end of it she had calmed slightly. "Well, I'm sorry to hear about Lucius. There's really no one else who can go?"

"No one. I tried everything I can think of. I have to go, and I can't leave him home alone. If he was healthy I'd just take him with me, but like this…"

"You can't," she repeated firmly, then sighed. "Bruce, I'm sorry. The only way it would work is if you brought him here and I stuck him in a bed. Even then, he's going to be in a room full of other sick kids, and most of them have parents or relatives with them. He'd be alone except when the nurses checked on him; there've been so many full-blown dehydration cases coming in that I'm running constant triage. It's a miracle you caught me in my office so I could talk. The point is, I wouldn't really be able to spend any time with him. He'd be all by himself."

_Seeing other kids with worried parents will just make him feel worse about the fact that there's no one there for him. No, I can't do that to him, it's cruel._ "I'll consider it as an absolute last resort," he said, "but I have a few other options to try before we go that route."

"Of course. Just let me know. If you need to drop him here, we'll at least make sure he's safe and hydrated. I wish I could do more."

"Yeah. I'll get back to you in a little while." Ending the call, he looked down again. "How are you feeling now, chum?"

"…Sick. Again."

"Try not to throw up, okay? Leslie says it's really important that you keep down as much water as you can."

"Okay. I'll try."

"There's my good boy." He hugged him for a second, thinking. _Leslie's more or less out. I can't ask Lucius; he'd probably do it, but he's got so much on his plate already, even without the broken arm. That's everyone local that he knows that I would trust with him._ Shaking his head, he started running down the JLA roster. _I guess if I have to I could take him to Mount Justice and leave him in the medical bay, but god, that's almost as bad as dropping him at the clinic…of course, if Wonder Woman's around at least he'd have someone cooing over him…still, I'd really rather he be able to stay here at home, in familiar surroundings._ _Oh, damn, I'm going to have to remember to chuck more feed at Gobblehead before I go, Dick will never forgive me if I let that fat old turkey go hungry for two days. Christ on a bike…_

"…Barry?" he frowned when the next call he placed was answered.

"Oh. Hi, Bruce. No, it's Wally," came back scratchily. "Uncle Barry's asleep on the couch. D'you want me to wake him up? Is it an emergency?"

"It's…not an emergency," he admitted. "But wake him up anyway." He waited, listening as the younger speedster told the elder that he had a call. After much shuffling and groaning on the other end, the phone was passed over.

"…Bruce? What the hell, man, it's six in the morning."

"Your voice sounds as bad as Wally's," the billionaire's mouth tightened. _Don't tell me they're sick, too._

"Yeah, well," he coughed, "makes sense, seeing as how he gave me whatever crud he brought home from school. A fast metabolism is great until you come across a cold that _likes_ a challenge."

"Damn it," he muttered. "I'm guessing, then, that you're in no state to watch Dick for a couple of days? He's sick, too," he added. "Flu. A bunch of the kids up here have it."

"…Don't they _clean_ schools anymore?" Barry asked rhetorically. "I'd do it in a second, but I've got my hands full just dealing with Wally. Plus, our bug doesn't involve puking, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way, you know?"

"Sure," he sighed, then frowned. "Where's Iris, if you're taking care of Wally?"

"Every spring she and a couple of her girlfriends go to Chicago for a week. They've been doing it since they were in college. She's due back on Sunday." A beat passed. "…Why do you need a babysitter, anyway? I'm having a hard time imagining something important enough to drag you away from his bed if he's that sick."

"Does Dick have a cold, too?" Wally inquired in the background.

"Flu," his uncle answered.

"Gross. Ask Bruce to tell him I said that's lame."

"What am I, a telegraph service?"

"You have the phone!"

"Wally asked me to ask you to-"

"I heard," Bruce cut him off, wearing a tiny smile despite the fact that his predicament was worsening by the minute. _Hell, if I can't get him to cheer up, maybe Wally can. _"Dick?" he said gently. "Wally wants you to know that he says it's 'lame' that you have the flu."

"…Okay," he mumbled back, his face beginning to take on the same pale color it had just before the first time he lost his grasp on his stomach.

Forehead pinched in sympathy, Bruce gave his own stab at a retort. "Tell him Dick is sticking out his tongue at him." The comment drew a small grin from the boy on his lap, and that was all he cared about.

"Wally. He stuck his tongue out at you."

"That's, like, a declaration of war at our ages, right?" was joked.

"Like I know, kid. I'm ancient, as you were so kind as to remind me last night when I told you my back hurt. I can't keep up with all these crazy pre-teen trends." He turned his attention back to the telephone. "…Bruce? Seriously, what's up? You're not sick too, are you?"

"No. Alfred's out of the country on a family emergency and I, uh…I have to fly to Bruges today."

"Bruges? Like…the one in Belgium? _That_ Bruges?"

"Yeah. Business stuff. I can't put it off, and no one else can do it, apparently. I just found out about half an hour ago, and I've been trying to find someone to take care of him ever since."

"...Wow. You're completely miserable about this, aren't you?"

He started slightly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you'd endure every level of hell just to keep him from getting the sniffles," Barry assured. "Look, I really wish I could help out - if nothing else, the boys could keep each other entertained - but I can't."

"It's fine," he closed his eyes.

"Um…you're probably not going to like this suggestion, but have you called Clark?"

"He's about the only option I have left," Bruce replied a bit dismally. For all that he had gotten over the worst of his jealousy about the obvious affinity between Superman and Robin, enough remnants remained that Clark was the last person he wanted to leave his son with. "Short of putting him in his Robin costume and dropping him at the mountain."

"…Yeah, I _guess_ you could do that. I mean, whoever was there would take care of him, but…"

"Yeah. But." As he spoke, Dick slipped out of his arms and down to the rug, grabbed the garbage can, and gave back the water he'd managed to drink a while before.

"Was that what I think it was?" Barry asked wincingly. "Poor kid, that sounded awful."

"I have to go." Without waiting for a response, he dropped his phone and knelt beside the child, who seemed to have finished but was still clinging to the receptacle. "Oh, Dicky," he sighed, rubbing slow circles on his back. "What am I going to do with you?" _How can I leave you like this?_ he chastised himself. _Really, how can I?_

"…Are you gonna call Clark?" he whispered as if his throat hurt.

"Would you be okay with him watching you?"

"Uh-huh."

_Stupid question. Of course you're okay with that._ "I'll see if he's available. You want to come back up on the bed?"

"Yes, please."

Resuming their earlier position, he pressed the half-full glass of water and a few crackers into the boy's hands. "Here, work on those while I call him."

"…It'll make me sick again," he complained, on the verge of tears at the thought.

"You've got to stay hydrated, kiddo. It's important, you know that."

"Can't I just have an IV?" he asked softly, slumping bonelessly against his guardian.

_Whoa. Since when do you __ask__ for needles?_ "You don't really want to be poked, do you?"

"I don't really want to throw up again."

"I'd rather not put you on an IV unless we have to," he ruled. "Sometimes when you're sick like this it can be hard to get your stomach back to normal if you don't keep giving it something to work on. That's why you need to eat your crackers. Maybe after I find someone to watch you I'll see if I can find some broth downstairs, huh?"

"I don't want to eat anything…"

"I know. But try anyway, okay? I'm sorry," he clasped him tightly. "I know you don't feel good, but I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important, would I?"

"No," he cried quietly. _That just makes it worse, though…_

"You can take your time, okay? Just go slow, and I'll call Clark." Freeing one arm, he picked up his phone to find a text from Barry. _'I don't know what it is between you and Clark, but just call him anyway. Also, tell Dick that Wally and I hope he feels better,' _he read silently. "Hey. Wally and Barry wanted me to let you know they're sorry you're sick, and they hope you feel better soon."

"…Say thank you for me?"

"Sure." He typed a short message back, then took a deep breath and dialed the reporter. "Clark," he semi-growled when the ringing stopped.

"Be nice," he heard Dick mutter as he licked the salt off of a cracker.

"Bruce. I'll do it."

"…Huh?" _How did he know what I'm trying to ask about?_ "Did Barry call you?" he demanded angrily.

"No, he texted me. Dick's sick, Alfred's in Europe and you're heading there for unavoidable business. It's fine, Bruce. I'll watch him."

"He's got a pretty ugly flu," he said, his intonation that of someone warning against the plague. _What am I doing, trying to sabotage myself? Somebody has to take care of him…I can't believe Barry told him before I did._

"Relax. It's not like I'm going to catch it," he joked. "…He's heart-meltingly pathetic right now, isn't he?"

Observing the child, who had once again stilled and was staring up at him, he sighed defeatedly. "…You have no idea."

"And this is absolutely killing you, isn't it?"

"Which part?" he snarked back.

"Leaving him. And having to ask me to watch him."

_Yes, of course it is. Both parts. _"…You're not helping."

"All right, all right," he backed down. "What time does your flight leave?"

"Four this afternoon."

"And it's going on seven now…" A keyboard clicked. "Okay. I can get on a ten thirty flight, which puts me in Gotham at noon. I'll take a cab, don't worry about trying to get him in a car and driving all that way. I should be there around one, one-thirty. Does that work?"

"I should only be gone a couple days at the most."

"Hey, however long it takes."

"…What about your job?"

"I'm due a vacation anyway. Besides, it's been all relatively boring reporting the last few days. I'd like a break."

_Taking care of someone else's puking kid. Sounds like a hell of a vacation. _"…Clark, why are you doing this?" he asked, slightly overwhelmed.

"You know, someday you'll figure out that this is what friends do for each other, and you'll stop asking such silly questions." He was silent for a moment. "There. It's done. Now you're stuck with me."

"I'll pay you back for the ticket."

"I used airline miles. Don't worry about it."

"I'm paying you back for the ticket," he said flatly. "And I don't particularly care what your opinion is on the matter, so don't waste your time." The fact that he could practically hear the smile on the other man's face only made him more upset.

"See you around one. And Bruce?"

"What?"

"Try not to be _too_ miserable about the way this worked out, okay?" With that, Clark hung up.

"Big blue jerk," the billionaire muttered. "Okay, chum. Clark's going to come take care of you while I'm gone."

"…Are you okay with that?" he asked, understanding shining in his eyes as he looked up.

"I'll live with it, because I have to."

"It's okay, Bruce. I'll still be right here when you get back, you know."

"…You better be," he replied fiercely. _And if you aren't, well, I keep kryptonite around for a reason…_

**Author's Note: Reader Kinsey Adelaide was kind enough to inform me last night that I misplaced Bruges on the map. It's in Belgium, not Holland. Chapter one has been corrected to reflect the city's actual location. Thanks, Kinsey Adelaide!**_  
_

**On another note, since most of you reading are fans of Bruce and Dick's relationship, I just finished Gail Tsukiyama's novel 'The Samurai's Garden' last night and highly recommend it. The relationship between the protagonist, Stephen, and the main supporting character, Matsu, reminded me of Dick and Bruce over and over again.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say take a moment and say thank you to everyone who's reading, with a special thanks to all of you who had reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. Your support is what fires up the muse. Happy reading!**

By the time Bruce had left Leslie a message, gotten Dick to swallow a little chicken broth that Alfred had stored away in the freezer, and then cleaned him and the floor up after he promptly lost said broth halfway between the bed and the bathroom, it was nine. Fastening the last button on a fresh pajama shirt, he tucked the boy deep in a pile of comforters and handed him an empty bowl. _If he goes for the garbage can in a hurry,_ he reasoned, _he might take a header off the bed, and I don't know how his reflexes are when he's sick like this. If he gives himself a head injury on top of the flu, there's no way I'm getting on that plane_. "Listen, kiddo," he said seriously, "I need to pack, and you need to rest. So here's what we're going to do. Since you refuse to go to sleep until I leave – although I won't be upset if you change your mind, you know – you can help me figure out which suits to take with me."

"…I get to play Alfred?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "You can play Alfred and pick out my clothes for me. But there's a catch," he added. "Every time we decide on an item, you have to take a drink. Even if it's just a sip. And no cheating; I'll know if you're just wetting your lips. Okay?"

"…Can I have apple juice?" he asked.

"Sure. I'll get you some. Stay there," he directed. _I just hope we __have__ some,_ he thought as he entered the kitchen and peered into the fridge. Nothing had been purchased food-wise since Alfred's departure, and while the butler had made a quick run to the grocery in order to ensure that his charges could fend for themselves while he was away, the last couple of days had been marked by the appearance of unsightly gaps in the kitchen cupboards. _There,_ he smirked triumphantly, snatching out a half-full bottle. He thought about pouring a glass, then shook his head and just carried the entire container back upstairs. _If I can get him to at least keep something down, I'll feel a lot better about having to leave him. _"Here we go."

Dick's eyes widened. "…I don't have to drink _all_ of that, do I?" he inquired a bit fearfully as he watched his guardian pour.

"Not all at once, no. But I figured you wouldn't want me to have to go back downstairs when you need a refill."

"That's true," he conceded.

"…I brought you something else, too," Bruce said, revealing the painfully bright green straw he had come across in one of the kitchen drawers.

"Yay," he cheered faintly, his exhausted expression lightening for a moment as it was popped into his drink.

"This will be a lot easier if you can sit up and see the closet door," the billionaire opined, setting the glass aside so that he could stack pillows against the headboard. By the time he'd finished and turned to help the boy, he found him already upright, waiting to slide backwards across the mattress. "…Can you make it?" he asked, a little surprised to see him suddenly so sprightly.

"Sure." He pulled himself along until he could fall against the wall of down the man had built for him. _That took a lot more energy than I thought it would_, he frowned. _…But I __have__ to stay awake while he's still here. What if his plane back gets delayed? It might be __three__ days until I see him again. _ Thinking about it, he realized that even if everything went smoothly this would be the longest stretch of time they'd been apart since his arrival at the manor. His lips turned downward.

"…Dick?" the billionaire queried concernedly as he saw his face change. Picking up the discarded bowl, he sat on the edge of the mattress and offered it to him. "Need this?"

"Sure," he took it even though his nausea had ebbed again after his last spell. _He's worried. Don't make him worry._ "…Can I have my drink, please?"

"You bet." Handing it to him, he watched as he took the tiniest of sips. "Is that better than water?"

"Mm-hmm," he nodded once. "Are you going to model?"

"No," he laughed, "but I'll hold things up so you can choose for me."

"Okay."

The first two outfits went together quickly, and Dick obligingly took his required drink after each piece received his nod. The third suit, which Bruce insisted he was taking along not because he expected to be there an extra day but only in case something happened to one of the others, was trickier. Shirt after shirt and tie after tie were chosen, displayed, and summarily rejected. "This one, then," the billionaire sighed, exasperated, as he displayed about the twentieth option. His response was the splash of regurgitated apple juice. "…Or not." _This is why I have Alfred lay out my clothes for me,_ he groaned as he glanced at the clock and realized another hour had evaporated. Crossing to the bed, he lifted the sick child's chin with one finger, swiped at his mouth with a tissue, and chucked it in with the rest of the mess. "You going to make it, chum?"

"…You should take the green and black paisley you held up before, and that mossy shirt. It'll look good with the pinstripes," he whispered, eyelids fluttering slightly.

"Talking like that, I can tell you spend too much time with Alfred," he teased gently. "But okay." He took the bowl to the bathroom to clean it out, trying to suppress his shudders as he did. _It's better than sponging it off the floor, at least,_ he reminded himself. That part of the morning had nearly resulted in his losing his own stomach, and was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat. _…I really need to give Alfred a raise._

"I think that's enough," he stated as he handed back the bowl. "Keep drinking while I pack everything you picked out." Fortunately there was a small wheeled suitcase regularly kept in his closet for just such occasions as last-minute business trips, and as he pulled it down he continued talking. _Distract him. Don't let him think about it. _"I don't even know where we keep the rest of the luggage," he realized, the hiss of the zipper making his words sound slightly lisped. "Do you?"

"Huh-uh…Bruce?"

"Hmm?" he hummed back, concentrating on folding his shirts. _I'm going to have to iron these damned things before I can wear them…I hate ironing. Maybe there will be a hotel laundry that can do it…There has to be, it's a five star hotel…Lucius' secretary knows better than to book anything without a good laundry, surely._

"I'm gonna miss you."

His head whipped around so fast his neck popped. "Ahh," he reached for it, caught off guard. Then he straightened and returned to where his son was still propped up and watching. "…I'm going to miss you, too, Dicky," he replied softly, cupping his cheek. "So much. I wish I didn't have to go."

"But you have to," he nodded. "I know. I just…I don't want you to worry while you're gone, okay? About me, I mean. I'll be okay."

"I know you will," he bit his lip. _My brave boy. _"But you know something else?"

"What?"

"I'll _always_ worry about you, even when you're in the same room with me."

A troubled gaze met his. "That's sad."

"No. It really isn't." Pulling away, he returned to the closet and finished packing silently, emerging after a few minutes with his luggage in tow. "I need to give that turkey of yours some food before I leave." _…Where do we even keep the turkey food?_ he wondered. _Dick usually takes care of him, I have no idea._

"Can I come with you?"

"No. Cold air won't do you any good right now."

"Now _you_ sound like Alfred," Dick pouted.

"Well, we listen to him about fashion and health for a reason, kiddo."

"Do you even know where Gobbles' food _is_?" he looked skeptical.

"…No. I don't."

"If I tell you so you don't have to search for it, can we use all that time you'll save to watch a movie downstairs until Clark gets here?"

"We can if you agree to have some more broth while we watch."

"Will you pause it when I have to throw up?"

"Yes."

"It's in his shed, right next to the fresh straw bales."

"…We keep the turkey food in _with_ the turkey?"

"He doesn't touch it until it goes in his trough thingy."

"Huh." He paused. _God, that bird is weird. _"You stay here until I take care of Gobblehead. Keep drinking your juice."

"Okay," he nestled back into the pillows, eyes following Bruce as he left the room. Once he was gone, they slowly slid shut. _I'll wake up when he comes back,_ he swore to himself. _He said he won't wake me, so I have to make sure I'm listening for him…_

In the foyer, Bruce shrugged his coat on. _God, I hope he goes to sleep. He needs to rest._ For all that the boy had just carried on a perfectly sensible conversation, he knew his son and could tell that he was drained. _He's just trying to hide it now that he knows I'm worried about him,_ he kicked himself as he stepped into the moist semi-spring air. _I should have kept it to myself. Well…what the hell. It wouldn't have done any good to try, he reads me too easily._ "Hey, Gobblehead," he greeted, entering the turkey shed.

The bird made his trademark noise and stalked forward to him, nibbling at the leg of his pants. He let it go for a few seconds, then spied a book on the straw bale in one corner and strode to it. "What's Dick reading to you now? Oh, hey, Sherlock Holmes," he caressed the tome's cover, recognizing it as one of the many works he'd given the boy for Christmas a few months earlier. _I wonder if he's enjoying the stories. I would think he would, but I assign him so many mysteries already that I couldn't really blame him if he preferred something more straightforward for his leisure time._

Shaking himself, he concentrated on the task at hand, quickly refilling the animal's food bin and checking the auto-drip for his water. "There. You should be set until he's better, hopefully." He turned to leave, then swiveled back as Gobblehead nudged the book with his head. "…He's sick, he can't come out and read today." Realizing what he was doing, he rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Why am I explaining the state of things to what was supposed to be our Thanksgiving dinner?" A sharp peck at his calf seemed to admonish him for the comment. "Hey, look, bird, if you hadn't saved his life, I'd have eaten you happily," he retorted even though he knew it wasn't true. The extent of the actions Dick had taken to save the creature's life would have been more than sufficient to promise it a safe home; Bruce just didn't like to admit it. "Just…don't be too loud," he warned as he reached the exit. "If he hears you he'll want to come outside, and he needs to stay in for a while. So keep your beak shut."

He snuck back into the bedroom with his breath held, and felt himself relax when he found Dick passed out. _Good,_ he thought approvingly as he carefully took away the half-full glass of juice still being loosely held by small, cool fingers. Setting it aside, he caught himself yawning. _What did I get, maybe three hours of sleep? And I won't get any more on the plane, I can never manage it even with pills…leaving here at four puts me in Bruges at four or five tomorrow morning._ His lip curled distastefully. _And the meetings start at ten. So maybe I can get a couple of hours in between landing and heading for the signing._ Checking the clock, he made a decision and crawled into bed, laying the boy down beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. _Screw it. It's ten thirty, and all I've got left to do is shower and change clothes. There's time for a nap before Clark arrives, and if Dick wakes up and I'm here with him maybe he'll go back to sleep…_

The alarm that went off two hours later came much too soon. Groaning, Bruce smacked the snooze button. "Stupid Bruges," he muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes. At some point his son had rolled over and curled against him; now he stirred, murmuring distantly in his dreams. "Hush, kiddo," the billionaire whispered. "It's okay." _No nightmares. Not on top of a flu. Please. _"Go back to sleep. I'm right here."

For a few more minutes he floated in half-awareness, contently pretending that he wasn't going to have to let go of the warm weight in his arms any time soon. The buzzer screeched again just as he was settling back into the fog, and he had no choice but to obey this time. He disentangled himself slowly, trying to avoid waking the slight figure at his side, and got up, watching as Dick first pouted and then rolled into the warm spot he had just vacated. Bending back down to place a soft kiss on his forehead, he thought his temperature was still elevated, but not dangerously so. _He's nowhere near as hot as he was when he had that infection in his shoulder over Christmas,_ he reflected as he passed into the bathroom, carefully closing the door before he turned on the light and prepared to shower.

He nearly fell asleep again under the relaxing spray, and had to force himself to step out. Checking on the boy, who hadn't moved an inch in his absence, he smiled sadly and picked up his suitcase and garment bag. He was just setting them down in the foyer and preparing to go back to the bedroom when he heard a car door close outside. _Damn it, already? I don't want to go,_ he cast a despondent glance at the stairs.

"Hold on, Clark," he stopped him, hustling down the stairs as the reporter opened his wallet. "Do you have another fare to get to?" he directed at the driver.

"No, sir, I'm on airport duty today."

"Good. That's where I need to go. Can you wait fifteen or twenty minutes?"

"I'll have to charge you."

"That's fine. Just tack that and my fare to the airport onto whatever he owes you, and I'll pay it all at once when you drop me off."

"Bruce, don't be ridicu-"

"Clark, shut up. Deal?" he asked the cabbie.

"That's all right with me, Mr. Wayne. Didn't know you took cabs ever."

"Well, it's a strange day. I'll set my things out on the steps to be loaded."

"I can get it done. Oh, here, let me pop the trunk for your other bags," he commented to Clark.

"Thanks, Lennie. Help me grab these, there's a few of them," the new arrival nudged the billionaire.

"…You're early," Bruce said as they retrieved several plastic grocery totes from the back of the cab.

"We caught a good tailwind," he shrugged. "I would have been here sooner, but I asked Lennie to stop by a grocery store on the way. I thought there might be a few things you needed, what with Dick being sick. Plus, I didn't want to show up _too_ much earlier than I said I would."

"Mm." _So what, as soon as I leave you're going to start bribing him?_ He steadied himself. _…Okay, that might have been a little excessive. And even if that was his plan, Dick's not exactly in the mood to eat anything right now._

"How's he doing?" the visitor inquired as they stepped into the entryway. Bruce set his load down and handed his luggage out to the waiting cabbie before he answered.

"He was asleep a few minutes ago. Before that…in and out. He seems to feel best shortly after he throws up, before he has time to put much on his stomach for the next round. I know he's been trying to hide how sick he feels because he knows I'm worried…" _I'm not being chatty,_ he excused his admission, _these are things he needs to know._ "I'll give him some more medicine before I go. He threw up the first dose this morning, but I didn't want to give him more because it was an adult formula and I wasn't sure how much he managed to absorb before he lost it. Watch him for dehydration, he's not keeping anything down. There's saline…downstairs…if he needs it. He asked for it earlier; if he asks again, give it to him. If he seems to be getting really bad, or it gets to be too much, call Leslie – Dr. Thompkins, I know you've met her before – and let her know what's going on. She can tell you whether or not to bring him in. Her number's on the side of the fridge. Use the kitchen phone, she won't answer if she doesn't recognize the caller. And-"

"Bruce." Clark stopped him gently. "Relax. He'll be fine. You know I'll call you immediately if anything changes." The entire time the billionaire had been rambling on with specifics, he hadn't been able to help but smile. _He doesn't get flustered when the entire planet's in jeopardy,_ he pondered, _but make him leave when Dick's got the flu and he turns all Nervous Nellie._ "And don't worry about the medicine, I'll give it to him. You've still got to get back across town and check in for your flight."

"…Yeah." He sagged slightly. "I'll just…get my briefcase from the study. Do you remember where the room you usually stay in is?" he all but heard Alfred urging him to inquire.

"It's been a while," he pointed out, a hint of reproach in his voice, "but I remember." While Bruce vanished down one of the side hallways, he gathered up the grocery bags and carried them into the kitchen. _I'll unpack them after he leaves. I'm not sure what the house rule is on soda – knowing Alfred, it's probably a strict ban - but the lady at the store said ginger ale would help, so…_

He came back into the foyer to find a raven-haired waif looking around forlornly, a blanket trailing on the floor behind him. "Hey there," he said quietly, not wanting to startle him. "How're you feeling? Bruce said you were taking a nap."

"…Did he go already?" the boy turned around, tears standing in his eyes as he failed to find any sign of his guardian in the wide entryway.

"No, he's still here. He'll be right back."

"Dick!" Bruce set his briefcase down as he reached the end of the hall and went to him immediately. "Hey, what are you doing out of bed?" he asked, kneeling and brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"I woke up and you were gone, and your stuff was gone, and I thought you'd left and I missed it…" he explained, lower lip trembling slightly when he had finished even though it was trapped between his teeth.

"…I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, chum," he gripped his shoulders tightly.

"B-but you said you wouldn't wake me up…"

"I would have woken you for that, I promise." He closed his eyes as he felt a pointed little face dig into his neck. _I don't care if Clark's watching,_ he decided, wrapping his arms around the child. _He's sick and upset. _"It's okay, baby," he whispered in his ear. "You're going to have a…great time," he managed to grind out without audible rancor, "with Clark, and you're going to feel better, and I'll be back in no time. You'll see. And you know what? We'll have all day Sunday to spend together. I'm going to have plenty of time to work on the plane, so I won't have to do _any_ work when I get back. How about that?"

"J-just you and me? All day?"

"All day," he nodded. He'd made a New Year's resolution to take at least one full weekend a month off to spend with the boy, but thus far hadn't quite managed to keep it. He could usually swing two weekend days on the same page of the calendar, they were just never consecutive, and no matter how frequently Dick insisted that what he managed was enough he felt awful about it. "And then next week's your birthday," he reminded him. "And we'll do something fun next weekend to celebrate. And since it's Robin's birthday, too," he pointed out, "Batman might just have a special present for him."

"…Really?!"

"Really." He pushed him away just enough to lean their foreheads together. "I'll be back just as soon as I can," he swore.

"I know. But I'll still miss you."

"I want you to work on feeling better while I'm gone, understand?"

"Yes." His voice was getting shaky as he sensed that the moment when Bruce would stand and walk out the door approaching. He swallowed hard, trying to master it. "Will you call?" he blurted out.

The man pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. "I will call you every chance I get," he promised. "And I want _you_ to call _me_ if you need to talk, okay?"

"Even…even if I just want to hear your voice?"

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…_ "Even then," he forced out through a throat thick with emotion. "Okay?"

He knew what was really being asked with that single word: _Will you be all right if I go now? _Putting on an expression that almost didn't belie the intense sadness and fear twisting in with his nausea and general physical discomfort, he nodded. "…Okay."

_I don't believe you, but…I have to go._ Rising to his full height, he retrieved his briefcase and walked to the door, unaware that he was dragging his feet slightly. Opening it, he turned back to wave, only to find Dick directly behind him. His knees began to bend again, aching to take him back down to his son's level, but he stopped them rigidly. _If he hugs me right now, I'll never leave, regulations be damned. _Knowing his limit but unable to completely avoid one last second of physical contact, he let his fingers just barely brush the sleep-wild dark hair. "…Bye, kiddo," he said, trying to give him a smile and failing. Just before the door blocked his view of the boy, he spied the tears that were beginning twin paths of wetness down his cheeks.

"…Bye, daddy," Dick whispered as the door clicked shut.


	4. Chapter 4

_Come back. _Wide, wet eyes stared longingly at the handle, willing it to turn._ Come back and say it was all a joke. I won't be mad about how mean it was if you just don't go…_ He sniffled once, found that the action hurt his already sore throat, and instead concentrated on keeping from running to the window to watch the cab pull away. _I'll want to go after it, and I can't. I have to be brave. Bruce would want me to be brave…_ Wiping at his tears, he didn't look up as Clark approached and crouched beside him.

The Kryptonian knew that there was no way Bruce had heard the adieu his son had breathed a moment too late. It had been so quiet that he had only picked up on it because he was waiting for it, and even then he suspected that he _might_ have let his super-hearing loose for a few seconds. _I think he must have left when he did specifically so that he __wouldn't__ hear it,_ he considered as he drew up to the motionless boy. _Because there is no way he could have walked out if he'd picked up on that 'daddy.'_ "…Dick?" he asked kindly, waiting to speak until he'd more or less dried his face.

"…Yes?" he answered finally. He'd been running almost entirely on raw emotion since he'd opened his eyes and found both Bruce and his luggage missing from the bedroom, and now that the man was actually gone his knees were shaking.

"Are you okay?"

"I…yes?" Looking over finally to find that his attempt at a lie was an utter failure, his resolve crumbled a little. "No. I dunno."

"You look a little pale. How's your stomach?" Indeed, his skin was almost colorless except for two high, bright spots of color just below his cheekbones.

"…I think now I'm _really_ sick," he murmured, hanging his head as his hands crept around to hold his sides.

_Ooh, if I hadn't already known how you wrapped that big, scary protector of yours around your finger so quickly, I sure would now,_ Clark found himself almost pouting along with him. He wanted to reach out and drag him into an embrace of his own, but restrained himself. _He might not react well to that; he knows me, but he also knows how jealous Bruce is. The last thing I want to do right now is confuse him. _"I might have something in the kitchen that can help," he suggested.

"…I really don't want any more of Alfred's broth. I know Bruce wanted me to have more, but everything makes me throw up," he said despondently.

"Broth? Hmm. _I_ was thinking of popsicles." He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he underwent a scrutinizing look.

"I don't think we have any popsicles."

"I brought them with me. Popsicles, and a few other things." _Hey, this is actually working,_ he realized, pleasantly surprised as the boy's face became slightly less depressed, interest piquing in his eyes. _Distraction works. Go with that. _"Do you want to see?"

"…One second?"

"Sure."

Now he let himself go to one of the glass panels flanking the double doors. Craning to see down the driveway, he thought he caught a glimpse of yellow disappearing into the trees at the edge of the front lawn. _…Come back…_ Suddenly he couldn't see outside any longer because his legs had folded underneath of him, forcing him to sit.

"Whoa, okay," Clark was at his side in an instant, one hand hovering just over his shoulder in case he went completely out. "Dick? What happened?"

"I'm fine…except…my stomach still doesn't feel good. And I'm tired. And my _stupid_ legs aren't working," he admitted.

"That's all right," he soothed. _He's under a lot of stress, physically and emotionally,_ he considered. _And he's so much like Bruce in other ways that I would just bet he's trying to keep it all from showing in front of me. I know he trusts me, at least somewhat, and I know he likes me, but he seems to be on the defensive right now. He hasn't been quite as open, either as Dick or Robin, since the night we spoke at Mount Justice while Bruce was being scanned. It's like he's trying very hard to be friendly with me, the way he really wants to be, but he's also working to make absolutely sure he doesn't get so comfortable that he gives away anything that Bruce doesn't want known. I respect that, but it's going to be a lot harder to take care of him, and to get to know him better, if he keeps his walls up. I think the key to this is going to be showing him that I'm here to help, not to mine for information. _"If it's okay with you," he offered, "I can carry you into the kitchen, or somewhere else. Then your legs would have a chance to rest."

"I…sure." He didn't personally mind the idea of Clark carrying him into the kitchen, regardless of whether or not he could have made it on his own, but he didn't want to do anything that his guardian might view as a betrayal. _But Bruce wouldn't want me to try and walk if he knew how I felt right now,_ he reasoned. _And he's the one who called Clark to come and take care of me, so…_ A second later he was lifted off of the ground, and he knew he'd made the right choice. The Kryptonian's grip was stiff, the way Bruce's had been at the very first, but it was still nicer than trying to drag himself around with no energy would have been. _This is almost as good as Bruce or Alfred. Almost._

_My god, he's so much smaller than he seems when he's moving around,_ the reporter marveled as he walked. He'd noted as much when Robin had been lying injured in the medical bay of Mount Justice back in December, but actually holding him drove the point home. _I don't know where he keeps all of that spirit…there's just not enough of him._ "Here we go," he set him down on the counter carefully. "Can you sit there, or should I get you a chair?"

"No, this is fine." He glanced over at the sink beside him. "This way I won't make a mess if…well, you know. Are…are there really popsicles?"

"Right here," he grabbed them out of a bag. "They might be a little bit melted, but they'll still taste good. I brought strawberry and grape."

"Can I have a strawberry one?" he swallowed hard, suddenly aware of his thirst as he examined the luscious looking fruit on the boxes. "Please?"

"You bet." _Good. Bruce said you can't keep liquids down; maybe this will be a slow enough intake that you'll get to keep it._ He'd been careful to get a brand that used actual juice, well able to imagine Alfred's wrath if he came home to find that the boy had been stuffed full of processed foods in his absence. _Bruce has probably done enough of that already. He's certainly no chef._ "Should I unwrap it?" he asked, still feeling out the boy's comfort zone and not wanting to make any assumptions.

Normally he would have insisted that he could get it himself, but his hands were feeling almost as sluggish as his feet. "Um…do you mind?"

"Nope." He tore open the plastic easily and handed the treat over. "How is it?" he asked after a tentative lick had been taken.

"It's good," he said. "Thank you."

"No problem. Just let me know when you want another one. So far as I'm concerned, it's open season on popsicles when you're sick," he shared as he put the treats into the freezer. "I'll just unpack this other stuff, and you can tell me where to put it."

"…Kay."

There was something slightly off in the single word, but Clark let it slide and went about dealing with the things he'd purchased. "I got really lucky at the store," he told him as he worked, hoping to keep him focused on anything other than his illness and Bruce's absence. "There was a nice lady in the medicine aisle who was shopping for her daughter. It sounded like she has the same bug that you do. Anyway, I asked her what kinds of things are good when your stomach's upset, because I sure didn't have a clue."

"…My parents used to give me popsicles and ginger ale when I was sick," Dick said quietly.

_Uh oh. That might not be the best topic to get into._ "…Oh? Well…I brought some soda, too," he turned around to show him the bottle. "Is this okay?"

"Yes. Thank you." The frozen treat in his hand was roughly half gone when his arid mouth began to war with his agitated stomach for dominance. Biting his lip, he set the popsicle down.

"…Dick?" The Kryptonian tried to keep his face passive as the boy leaned over suddenly and gagged above the sink. There wasn't much in him to come up after having slept and then taken in so little fluid since waking, but his body rebelled regardless, dragging up bile when it found nothing else. Clark was _aware_ of vomit, of course, and had seen others be sick before, both from illness and necessity, but this was the first time he'd been the responsible adult in such a situation. _What did I get myself into?_ he wondered, hearing a little moan escape between heaves.

Dick groaned, trying to catch his breath as the spasms faded. His stomach and sides had already felt weak and sore from his earlier episodes, but somehow this round had hurt differently than just muscle ache could account for. _Maybe it's better if there's something in your stomach…_ The sink was spinning of its own accord, and he nearly smacked his face on the faucet when his elbows repeated the trick his knees had pulled out in the entryway. Only a pair of hands moving at speeds no regular human could ever achieve kept him from adding a bloody nose to his list of ailments. "Sorry…"

"No need to apologize," he helped him sit back up. The façade the child had so valiantly tried to maintain since Bruce's departure was cracking fast, his thin shoulders hunching forward and dark head bowing as he gave a tiny sob. _Okay, we can't beat around the bush any more here. I can't ask him for permission every time I need to pick him up to move him. _"Dick? Listen for a minute, okay?" He took a deep breath. _I hope this is the right thing to do. It's what I'd do with an adult, but…he's only nine. Still, though, he's so smart...but who knows how being sick like this will affect his usual maturity? I guess there's not really a good way to know without trying,_ he determined after a moment's pause. _I have to do __something__, he looks like he's about to keel over._ "I know I'm not Alfred or Bruce," he started. "And I know you wish they were here. But I'm here instead, because I want to help you feel better. I'm here because I care. But I don't want to do anything that will upset you. So I'm going to do what seems like needs to be done, and I want you to tell me if it's something you don't want me to do. Is that okay?"

Through the veil of illness, Dick understood what the man whose hands were still half-holding him up was scared of. _He's trying to figure out where the line is, what either Bruce or I will think of as him going too far. But…Bruce isn't here, and I'm so cold…_ He nodded._ I don't have the energy to fight his battle with you. I just want someone to make me feel better, and __I'm__ not mad at you for anything. _"Can I please lay down now?" he whispered.

"You want to go to bed?" _I don't even think I know where your room is,_ he realized with a note of panic. Between the odd hours that Bruce kept even when he didn't have visitors and his own lack of the need for sleep, the Kryptonian rarely visited the second floor, and as such was relatively unfamiliar with the upstairs of the house. _And there are a __lot__ of doors to try if you can't manage to give me directions._

"…The couch is okay."

_The den_, he sighed in relief. That, at least, he could find without difficulty. Pulling the blanket that had pooled around Dick's waist back up over his shoulders, he pulled him close and lifted him. The boy made no protest as he was transported down the hall to the requested room, instead simply lying against him, slow, shallow breaths ghosting across his caretaker's neck. _Your skin is warm, warmer than it probably should be, but you're shivering,_ Clark thought with a frown. _How could he leave you like this?_ "More blankets?" he inquired once he'd set him down on the couch.

"Yes, please…I'm cold…"

He looked so miserable that it hurt. "Where are they, pal?" he asked softly.

"I think…maybe the hall closet?"

It took a couple of tries, but he found the right door after a minute and grabbed the thickest three covers he saw. Picking him back up briefly with one arm, he covered the leather upholstery – _that's got to be uncomfortable to lay your face on,_ he figured - before tucking him in. "I'm going to go get you some medicine. If you're still feeling cold in a little while, you can have that other comforter."

"Kay," he closed his eyes.

He wasted no time as he rinsed out the sink and gathered supplies in the kitchen. "Alright, let's see what we can do here. Can you sit up long enough to take some medicine?"

"…It's not that pink stuff, is it?" he made a face.

"No, this is just for kids."

"…What flavor?" he consented to look at it briefly.

"Ah…cherry."

"…I like cherry."

_Thank god this kid likes fruit flavors,_ Clark thought gratefully. He read the back of the bottle in its entirety before pouring any out. _If I accidentally make you OD on flu medicine I'll never forgive myself._

"…That's way better than what Bruce made me take," he commented after swallowing it.

"I'm sure he would have preferred to give you something you liked; he probably just doesn't know where Alfred keeps it. This," he held up a glass of ginger ale, "and maybe this," he dropped a blue twisty straw into it, "should help your stomach. At least, the lady at the grocery store said it would."

"Thanks," he accepted the glass, sipping. After a few small pulls, he handed it back and fell flat again. "…I'm tired."

"Then you should probably sleep. I'll get you a pillow. Do you want anything else right now?"

"…The garbage can? The bathroom's too far away for when I get sick again."

_When, not if,_ he noted. _Judging from what I saw earlier, that's an extremely unpleasant certainty to have._ "Sure. I'll put it right here next to you."

"Kay." A moment more, and he had passed out.

Sighing, the reporter snagged a pillow from the linen closet he'd discovered and placed it carefully under the boy's head. _This is harder than I thought it would be. Even with him sleeping and having medicine and a little fluid in his stomach, I feel like there's something more I should do, can do. Maybe that's just wishful thinking…_ He shook his head. _I think I'm starting to understand why Bruce was so reluctant to leave you with me, Dick. It's not even just his little jealousy thing; I'm probably the least qualified person on the planet for this. I've never __been__ sick, not like this; I can't even really sympathize, other than to say that it all looks and sounds horrible. I wish Ma was still alive, she'd know what else I could do for you…but lacking that, there's always the internet. _Turning away from the feverishly slumbering child, he headed for the foyer to retrieve his laptop, hoping that someone, somewhere, had felt as helpless in the face of the flu as he was beginning to.


	5. Chapter 5

He had just gotten onto the manor's network when he heard the kitchen phone ringing. _…I don't know if I should answer that,_ he frowned. _Bruce would be calling my cell phone. I guess it could be Alfred, or Dr. Thompkins…maybe I __should__ get it._ Standing up as the third trill began, he hurried to catch it. "…Wayne residence."

"Good afternoon, this is Priscilla with the Gotham Academy attendance office."

_They have a special office just for attendance?_ Clark boggled slightly. _Wow, Bruce, you weren't kidding when you said he got into a high-end school._ "Hello, Priscilla. What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir, I'm calling because Richard Grayson was absent from all of his classes today."

_He forgot to call him out of school? Since when does he forget things?_ "He's here at home, sick. He's got the stomach flu."

"Oh, well, completely understandable then. There have been a number of children out with that this week." She paused, typing. "Will he be absent tomorrow, as well?"

"…Yes," he made an executive decision. _Even if he wakes up and is somehow better, he's so exhausted that he'd probably just fall asleep at his desk if I tried to send him. Besides, I think Alfred drives him, and I have no idea where this place is._

"All right. In the future, if you wouldn't mind calling when he's going to be out we would greatly appreciate it."

"I'll pass the message along." The call ended shortly thereafter, and as soon as he'd hung up he pulled his cell from his pocket. _'You forgot to call the school. I assumed you wanted him out tomorrow, too?' _he texted Bruce. He was sitting back down with his computer when his phone rang. "Hey."

"How is he?"

"No hello?"

"_Clark._"

"He's fine," he assured. "He's asleep on the couch. Gotham Academy called."

"Don't even think about trying to send him tomorrow."

"I didn't figure to."

"…Has he drunk anything?"

"He had half a popsicle, then threw up. I gave him medicine and a few sips of ginger ale before he laid down, and he hasn't lost that in the last twenty minutes, so…hopefully he keeps it. Maybe that's the secret, giving him liquid right before he falls asleep."

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "Maybe. Whatever it takes." His voice dropped. "Did he…you know…get upset?"

"Oh, he was upset, alright, but he hid it like a pro. You'd have been proud." He paused as a car horn honked in the background. "…You're not even to the airport yet, are you?"

"No. We're in midtown."

"You know you're only going to make things worse on him if you call every forty five minutes, right?"

"_You_ texted _me_," he said tensely.

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to _call_."

There was a moment of silence. "Just…just take care of him. I'll call later." And with a beep, the conversation ended.

"Okay then," the Kryptonian shook his head. _If anyone tries to mug him while he's in Bruges, they're in for one hell of a surprise,_ he grimaced. _As worried and upset as he sounded just now, he'll lay into them without even thinking about it._

Several hours passed. From what he could find online, there wasn't a whole lot he could do to help the sickness pass any faster or make the child left under his care more comfortable while it ran its course. Finally he gave up on that dream and turned to work, checking the news and answering emails. At three-thirty his phone rang again.

"…Bruce. He's fine."

"Is he awake?"

"No, he's still asleep. Would you relax?"

"No, I won't. I'm about to be incommunicado for seven hours while my son's sick at home with someone who has no idea what he's going through and little or no experience with ill children. Maybe _you_ can relax, but I _can't_."

Lips tightening, Clark tried to look past the angry tone and focus on the fact that today, for the first time in months, Bruce was actually telling him things without having them forced from him. _First he said he was worried, before he left,_ he recalled. _And now he's telling me that he can't relax. _Had he been speaking to anyone else he would have assumed they meant that statement figuratively, but knowing the billionaire he was probably clenching every muscle in his body.

"…Are you going talk, or should I hang up?"

"Bruce," he breathed, "I need you to stop and listen to me for a second." _Details. Everything's in the details with him, so give him details._ "Dick is fine. He's asleep on the couch. He hasn't thrown up since I talked to you last, which means he kept the medicine I gave him and a little bit of ginger ale. He's still pale, but his breathing is normal. When he wakes up, I'll keep pushing the fluids. If he gets worse, you told me how to get in touch with your doctor. If that fails, I know for a fact that J'onn is at the mountain this evening, and I'm sure he'd be happy to help. _Don't_ worry, I know to at least put a mask on him first. This might not be old hat to me, but trust me when I say that I'm doing everything I can. I'm _not_ going to let anything happen to him, I swear." He stopped. "…Did that help at all?"

"…Yes," he admitted slowly, an almost undetectable trace of gratitude lacing the word. "I, uh…I have to go. But…Clark?"

"Yes?"

"You had better keep that promise you just made." And then he was gone.

"…Well, that was a delightful conversation," the Kryptonian muttered as he set his phone back down. _He's hating himself right now, I can tell. I'd feel bad for him if he hadn't been being so ridiculous lately with this whole jealousy thing. _Shaking his head, he turned back to what he'd been reading. He quickly fell into a vehement comment war over an article by a journalist he respected highly, and didn't look at the clock again until it read nearly five. _I should wake him up,_ he mused. _…I think I should, at least. I'm sure he needs to drink something. He needs to sleep, too, though…well…if he drinks something and then goes back to sleep, maybe he won't throw up._ Setting his computer aside, he moved to the edge of the couch and touched the hand sticking out from under the blanket. "…Dick? Hey, pal, wake up."

"Uh-uh," was whined back after a second, the small body shifting minutely beneath the blankets.

_ I don't blame you, I don't think I'd want to be awake if it meant being as uncomfortable as you looked earlier._ "Please? You need to drink something. You can have some more ginger ale, if you want. Or another popsicle." _Maybe I should have bought some sports drinks, something with electrolytes. I wonder if there's anything like that downstairs in the cave…_

"Noo…"

"Aren't you thirsty?"

"Yeah…" _But I don't want to throw up,_ hung in the air between them.

"Well-" he was cut off by the phone in the kitchen. "Okay," he conceded. "You sleep for another couple of minutes while I get that." _What am I going to do if I can't get him to cooperate? _he fretted as he chased the ringing. _I don't blame him for not wanting to be sick again - that entire process seems awful – but I can't let him dehydrate. I hate to put him on an IV, though…_ "Wayne residence."

"…Mister Kent?" The clipped British tones that answered sounded mildly confused.

"Alfred!" the Kryptonian grinned, relief flooding him. "I have never been so happy to hear your voice. No offense."

"None taken, I assure you. I must confess that your answering caught me rather off guard. Is there a problem at the manor that I should be apprised of?"

"…Bruce didn't call you?" _Of all the people not to tell what was going on, you left __Alfred__ out of the loop? I do __not__ envy you when he sees you again._

"No, he didn't." There was a note of dread rising in the butler's voice. "…Is the boy all right? He hasn't been hurt, has he?"

Clark explained quickly, well able to imagine the kinds of things the Englishman might fear had happened to his younger charge during his absence.

"I suppose I can't be too terribly upset with Master Wayne for not informing me of the predicament. It sounds as if he had a great deal else going on this morning." He paused. "…You said Master Dick is being a bit stubborn about getting up to drink?"

"Yes. I mean, I don't blame him, but he hasn't had anything in a few hours now."

"Perhaps I should speak with him."

"He's not being rude about it or anything," Clark threw out quickly. "He's just miserable."

"It's quite all right, I have no plans to chastise him. Certainly not when he's ill, the poor child."

"…Dick?" he spoke his name as he carried the handset back into the den and sat down beside him. "Hey. You've got a phone call."

_That_ made his eyes open. "…Is it Bruce?" he asked hopefully.

"Close. Alfred." He smiled when the phone was reached for.

"…Alfred?" he whispered.

"Hello, young sir," came back. "I understand you aren't feeling very well today?"

"Huh-uh."

"No? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Is Mister Kent taking good care of you thus far?"

"Yes."

"Very good. And have you had anything to drink recently?"

"…Before I slept."

"Hmm. A while ago, then?"

"Yeah…"

"You know it's very important that you stay hydrated."

"Yeah…Bruce said that, too."

"There's a reason we're both encouraging you to drink. If you don't, you'll feel even sicker, and I'm sure you don't want that."

"But I don't want to throw up any more…"

"I know," he soothed. "But I'm afraid that may happen whether you drink or not. If it does, you'll simply have to bear up and carry on doing your best."

He choked back a small sob at that. "Okay…I miss you," he murmured, his face so sad that Clark had to look away.

"…I miss you too, my boy. Very much," he added sincerely.

"When are you coming home?"

"Well, my mother is having surgery tomorrow, but once I see that she is recovering I'll fly back. Have no fear, I've not forgotten that your birthday is next week."

"You'll be here?" He smiled just a little.

"Of course I shall. I could hardly miss your passage into the double-digits, now could I?"

"Yay..."

"Now, remember, young sir, you _must_ keep drinking. Take small sips. I apologize that I cannot be there to help you, but I'm certain you'll prove to be a more-than-worthy adversary for this bout of flu, yes?"

"…I'll try, Alfred."

"Very good. Is there anything else you wanted to say before you hand the phone back to Mister Kent and get to work on the ginger ale that I understand he was kind enough to procure for you?"

"No, but…wait, you're not mad about it being soda?"

"Given your current symptoms, I'm willing to let that rule slide. Does knowing that make you a bit more willing to drink it?"

"I…a little."

"Excellent. Is that all?"

"…Yes. Bye, Alfred."

"Goodbye, Master Dick. Feel better, hmm?"

"Okay." He handed the phone back to Clark. "He wants to talk to you again."

"Thanks, pal. Your drink's right there," he nodded at the end table. "Can you reach it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Alfred?"

"Mister Kent, what is his temperature?"

"I don't know. He seemed warm earlier, and he said he was cold."

"It's highly likely that he has at least a mild-grade fever." He paused. "You're rather unfamiliar with the upper level of the house, aren't you?"

"Ah, yeah. I can find the room where you normally have me throw my stuff, and that's about the extent of it."

"Well, feel free to utilize the medical equipment…downstairs," he said pointedly. "I'm sure you'll be able to find anything you need."

"Bruce said there was saline, if I need it?"

"Yes. But I warn you, he hates needles and he has tricky veins, especially when he's dehydrated."

"…I'll get help if it gets to that point, then." He had hooked others up to IVs before, but he was certainly no expert, and there was no point in prolonging the experience for the boy.

"Very well. Is there anything I can do to help from here?"

Clark was silent for a moment, watching Dick examine the pretzel-like straw, then take it into his mouth and cross his eyes as he tried to watch his soda go through the bends. "Honestly, Alfred, I think you've already helped a lot," he said finally. "Thank you."

"…Is he drinking, then?"

"Yes. Actually…" he frowned. "Dick, maybe you should take smaller sips. Don't go too fast." Receiving a glance and a nod, he returned his attention to the man on the phone. "Sorry. I don't know what you said, but it worked."

"Let's just hope that he holds it down this time. He needs to drink in any case, but it does him much less good if he keeps throwing it back up. If he continues to vomit and you feel you can make a run to the store, there is a product called Pedialyte that would serve him well. I regret now that I don't have any on hand, but then I'm also wondering how I neglected to have him immunized against the flu."

"Pedialyte. Got it. I don't suppose any grocery stores will deliver up here?"

"No, we're too far out for that I'm afraid."

"…Well, I guess we'll see how it goes, then."

"Very well. Please, sir, do call me if you have any questions. I imagine this is a rather new experience for you; the last thing we want to do is scare you off the boy. Master Wayne is doing quite enough towards that end without any assistance."

"Eh, that's Bruce," he shrugged. "He'll get over it eventually, or at least I'm pretty sure he will. It just might not happen until Dick's, you know, past the adorable and cuddly stage." The boy gave him a strange look, then turned his attention back to his drink, trying to do what Alfred had wanted him to.

"If then," the butler opined. "Regardless, your forbearance, and your assistance in this current little crisis, are both very much appreciated. By Master Wayne as well as myself, I assure you."

"Thanks, Alfred. It's nice to hear that. And I'll call if there's a problem or anything."

"Thank you, Mister Kent. Good night."

"Night." Tucking his phone away, he gave the boy a smile. "How's the drink?"

"It's good. My throat doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"Yeah? Good. Would you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Can you stay awake for another half an hour or so? That way you can take more medicine."

"…I'm still really sleepy," he confessed, looking a little ashamed.

"That's okay," the Kryptonian comforted. "Would it make you less tired if I turned on the TV?"

Dick bit his lip. "…Could I pick a movie?"

"Sure. Anything you want. Well," he amended swiftly, realizing that despite what the child spent his weekend nights doing there were probably a lot of movies he shouldn't be watching yet, "anything that's not for grown-ups only."

"…Could we watch Madagascar 3?"

"There are _three_ of them now?" he started. He remembered when the first one had come out, but somehow the release of the sequels had completely passed him by.

"You never saw any of them?"

"Nope. Not even the first one."

"That's a tragedy."

He said it so seriously that Clark laughed. "…You _must_ be feeling better, huh?"

"A little bit. I dunno. It did this before. I kind of felt okay for a little while this morning, when I was helping Bruce pick out his clothes, and then I got sick again."

"…He let you pick out his _clothes_?"

"Normally Alfred would do it for him, but he's not here. Bruce can put together an okay outfit, but he doesn't have any flair." He suddenly looked stricken. "…I shouldn't have told you that," he gasped, eyes going wide and guilty.

"It's all right. I won't tell a soul."

"…There are a lot of weird things out there. Maybe…could you promise not to tell anything soul_less_, too? Just in case?"

_God, which case files has he given you to read that you're already worried about soulless beings?_ he wondered as he promised solemnly. "Now, point me towards the movie."

"It's already in the TV. Here, I'll show you if you hand me the remote." Less than a minute later the boy had all three movies queued. "This way we can have a marathon, since you've never seen them," he said contently. "…You'll pause it if I have to throw up or if I fall asleep, right? I don't want to miss it."

"Sure I will." Clark moved down to the end of the couch and settled back to watch. Once he was in place, Dick laid back down, his feet bumping into his caretaker's leg. "And this _is_ a kid's movie, right?"

"Uh-huh. It's about animals that run away from the zoo, then get caught again but end up in Africa. It's funny. It-" he broke off, a pensive expression on his face. _It even makes Bruce laugh. _

"…You okay over there?" _Sick again already? You've __got__ to keep something down…_

"Well…it's another secret about Bruce. But…I mean, it's not a _big_ secret."

"You don't have to tell me. I understand, Dick."

"I know you do." He thought a bit more. "Maybe…maybe I'll tell you later, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, then glanced at the television. "…Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's get this show on the road." For a second he was certain he'd said something wrong; the child's head cocked to the side, a flash of pain in his eyes. _What? What's wrong with that? It's a common expression. Unless…oh. Show equals circus, and he's from…great job, Clark. _

_ I don't think I've heard anyone say that since…well, since the last time I heard Pop Haly say it. Right before we came to Gotham. He always said that over the radios right before we pulled out of camp…_ The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and he decided that he didn't mind hearing it again. "Yeah," he nodded, pressing play. "Let's do that."

The reporter watched him surreptitiously, waiting for a breakdown. It didn't come. _I wonder if…no. It doesn't matter. He's past it, don't bring it up again. If he wants to talk about it, he will; trying to force it will only make things worse._ He snorted mentally at the realization that thought brought on. _Just like Bruce. God, what a pair they make…_


	6. Chapter 6

Clark was mentally comparing Bruce Wayne's playboy persona to the lemur king, Julian, when Dick threw himself half off of the couch without warning and stuck his face into the garbage can. What followed was a sound that the Kryptonian wouldn't be forgetting any time soon. _It was bad enough when he didn't have anything to bring up,_ he winced, _but this sounds like he's being tortured. _As the choking and gagging went on, he paused the movie and leaned forward, resting his hand on the boy's back both to help keep him from falling into his own mess and to remind him that there was someone nearby if he needed something. _Did Bruce have to listen to this all morning? No wonder he was so frazzled…_

"…Tissue?" The weak request jerked him back to the present, and he looked down to find unsteady fingers reaching out expectantly.

"Aah," he searched the room desperately with his eyes. Finding nothing, he patted his shoulder and stood. "I'll get some." He wouldn't normally have used any percentage of Superman's speed while dressed as Clark Kent, but when he considered what it must be like to hover over one's own vomit he made an exception. "Here," he gave him a wad of toilet paper, placing the rest of the roll within reach of the couch. _I have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time he needs it._

"Thanks," Dick rasped, rolling back into his old position and staring up at the ceiling once he'd wiped his mouth.

"I think it's about medicine time again."

"…Can we please wait? Just…just a few minutes?"

"The sooner you take it, the sooner it can help."

"My stomach's really bad right now," he whispered. "Please. Just a minute?"

_It won't matter how soon he takes it if he can't keep it down long enough to work._ "Sure," he conceded. "You just tell me when you're ready for it. How do you feel other than that?"

"Still cold. And everything hurts."

"…I'm sorry, pal," he murmured back, heart twisting at his obvious discomfort and unhappiness. "Is there something I can get you?"

The only thing in the world that he wanted at that moment was for his guardian to suddenly appear, wrap him up in his arms, and hold him until he fell asleep. _But that can't happen. He had to go to Bruges. But…_ "Can we call Bruce?"

_There's no way they've landed, they've only been in the air a couple of hours._ "He's still flying," he explained as gently as he possibly could. "They make you turn your phones off when you're in flight."

"Oh," the little puff of an answer came out almost inaudibly. _We could leave him a message,_ he almost argued, but bit it back when he decided that wouldn't do anything but worry the billionaire further. _And he didn't record over the machine that asks you to leave a message, so I can't even call just to hear his voice…_

"…Should I start the movie again?"

"I don't care," he closed his eyes.

Frowning at that – _he was so excited a little bit ago, he can't just not care all of a sudden - _the man pulled the extra comforter down from where he'd left it on the back of the couch. By the time he finished draping it over his patient, the boy was more cocoon than child. "Maybe that will help you warm up," he crouched in front of him, ignoring the smell from the garbage can. _I should bring a new bag in. And maybe spray some air freshener._ His only response was an unhappy sniffle. "I wish I had a power that would let me just take this flu right out of you," he shared.

His mouth twitched as he tried to picture that. "…It _would_ be funny to watch Superman beat up a giant virus."

"Yeah. Flu-man."

"That's not a very good name."

"No, it isn't," Clark agreed. "But he'd have lots of time to think of a better one in jail."

"…Can they send you to jail for making people sick?"

"Sure. Have you ever heard of Typhoid Mary?"

"Yeah."

"They locked her up. Well, they 'quarantined' her, twice. But it might as well have been jail, back in those days."

"Huh." He was quiet for a minute. "…Can I have another popsicle? My throat hurts."

"Can you take some medicine, too?"

"…I think so."

He poured it out before anything could change and helped him sit up to take it. "Good job," he accepted the empty dosage cup back. "I'll get your popsicle. You want strawberry again?"

"Yes, please."

His apathy towards the movie faded as he worked on the frozen juice bar, and he was able to be talked into swallowing a little ginger ale while they watched. Shortly after pushing play, Clark looked over to find him asleep once more. _It's like Bruce said,_ he sighed. _In and out. At least he's keeping something down again. _

That was the cycle into early morning Friday; Dick would sleep for about three hours, wake up and drink, and then throw it all back up. Once he'd recovered, he would imbibe a little more, take his next round of medicine, and pass out again. They worked their way through the movie twenty minutes at a time, and the Kryptonian was diligent about pausing it as soon as he realized his patient was being sick or sleeping again. Shortly after midnight he was surprised to see him partially untangle himself from the blankets and crawl closer. "What's up?"

Sighing, he curled up beside him and put his head on his leg. "…Is it okay if I lay like this?" he asked as an afterthought.

"_I _don't mind, but…"

"…But Bruce?"

"Right." _He's still so cautious when it comes to the subject of you. He knows I would never try and draw you away from him – he has to know that, I've only told him as much three or four times now – but I don't want to do anything that will give him a reason to pull away from me again. Things are just starting to get better… _As if that wasn't enough, he could tell that there had been a change between Batman and Flash; there had always been a sense of respect, at least from Flash to Batman, but now there was something like camaraderie, as well. In a couple of instances it had even seemed to flow in both directions, and that had hurt.

"He isn't here. Besides, you're comfy."

"…Well, it's fine with me if it's fine with you." _You're right. He isn't here. I __don't__ mind, and there's nothing wrong with this, so…really, what am I supposed to do, not be myself because you might like me too much? That's absurd. _

"Thanks. I promise I'll try really hard to not throw up on you."

"…I would appreciate that." _Okay, I guess my leg is more comfortable than I ever imagined,_ he smiled gently when he looked down to find Dick fast asleep a few minutes later. Pulling a blanket back into position, he hesitated, then let his hand lay on the boy's arm. When no alarms went off and the sleeping figure stayed motionless, he relaxed. _There. That's better. He's sick and probably just wants to be near somebody; I'm not going to punish him because of what Bruce might say. That's not fair to Dick, and he's innocent in all of it. _

Pausing the movie and flipping the television over to cable, he found a program to hold his attention and fell into watching. As it ended, his phone went off. "Hey, Bruce. You're calling later than I expected. He's fine," he added before he was asked. "Sleeping."

"…The flight was delayed taking off, and we circled Bruges for thirty minutes trying to land. I would have called earlier otherwise. _Excusez-moi_," he said to someone. "He hasn't slept this whole time, has he?"

"No. He's been up a couple of times, had some medicine, thrown up. The works."

"Is he keeping _anything_ down?"

"Medicine, a popsicle, and a little soda. He drinks a lot right when he wakes up, and then loses it all. I can tell he's trying to go slow, but he's so thirsty he can't help it."

"…Give him some crackers after he's sick. He hasn't eaten since dinner on Wednesday; he's going to start dropping weight, and Leslie says she's required by law to report it to CPS if he comes in under the average range for his age on two checkups in a row."

"With his body type? That's ridiculous, he's not even average _height_ for his age!"

"Tell me about it."

"He wanted to call you while you were in the air."

"You could have let him leave a message," he replied a bit scathingly.

"I thought of that, Bruce, but honestly I think what he really wanted was to hear your voice," the Kryptonian explained. "And your automated message is still on the default setting."

"Well…have him call me when he wakes up next time. I don't care what time it is here, at least have him leave me a message if my phone is off." He paused briefly. "I have to go."

"I _hate_ the way he ends calls," Clark grumbled. _But…that was almost a normal Bruce conversation. He didn't tell me to shut up, he didn't make any semi-threatening comments, and he didn't half-accuse me of anything. I wonder what they put in his food on that flight, and where I can get some…more importantly, why has it taken this long for things to get back to semi-normal? I thought we resolved everything after New Years, but he's still being snappish, except for just now, and I don't get it._

A gentle _ping_ let him know he had a text message. _'How's the mini-B?'_ The Kryptonian laughed a little bitterly. _Barry. By virtue of getting a kid around the same time as Bruce, you managed to nudge me out of the way._ Still, he had to acknowledge, it was hardly the other man's fault; Wally had needed and deserved loving adults, and the fact that the boys had hit it off so scarily well, thus drawing their guardians and mentors closer together, wasn't something that anyone had any control over. _I can't be mad at Barry for this; things between Bruce and I deteriorated because Bruce overreacted – there's a shock – and tried to push me away. The fact that he and Barry became friendlier at the same time is coincidental; after all, he was getting distant with me before the boys ever met. I wonder, though, if he has insight that I'm lacking…_

"Do you regularly call people at two in the morning, or is this a special exception you made just for me?" the speedster answered grumpily.

"Thanks, _Bruce_."

"…Heh. Yeah, I guess that is something he'd say. Sorry. Headache."

"We don't have to talk, Barry, I just got your text and…well, it got me thinking."

"Hey, I've got nothing better to do other than lay here and be miserable. Although I have to say, the fact that this cold has lasted over a day in Wally and I makes me feel really, really bad for all the people who have to go through it at a normal pace. They're going to be down for a couple of weeks if we're any indication."

"I'm sure Dick is pretty envious of speedy recovery right about now."

"How's he doing?"

"He seems to be handling it pretty well. I don't know, though; I have no frame of reference for this." Thinking about the boy curled beside him, his hand tightened slightly on his arm.

"Well…it's no fun to feel nauseous around the clock. Throwing up _once_ is awful, let alone going for repeats the way a bad flu makes you do."

"I can imagine, but…well. Anyway, that's not really why I called. I know there's not a whole lot more I can do for him at this point."

"Okay. So why _did_ you call?"

He sighed. "I've been trying to figure out what's going on with Bruce."

"…You mean the whole weird thing between you and him?"

"Yeah."

"He doesn't really talk about you, and to be honest, it's not a topic I've pushed. I've been trying to stay out of it."

"…I was afraid of that."

"Hey, Clark, you're not…you know, upset with me about how things have been since we introduced the boys, are you? And I realize how middle-school-girl that sounds," he joked, "…but I wouldn't really blame you if you were. I know it probably seems like I just popped up out of the acquaintance zone all of a sudden."

"You _did_ just pop up out of the acquaintance zone all of a sudden. But that's not surprising, given the circumstances. You and Bruce both had similar major changes in your lives recently, changes that I didn't have. It makes sense that you would turn to one another for help and advice, because you're both going through the same thing at the same time. I'm not upset at you, really. I'm sorry if it's come off that way – I have had moments of passing jealousy, I'll admit – but…thinking about it tonight, I realized that you came into this late. He was already pushing me away, and I know why, but…I thought we were past it after New Year's. I feel like he's still keeping me at a distance, though. I guess I was hoping maybe he'd said something to you that might help me figure out why."

"…Let me explain how this all looks to a relative outsider, okay, Clark? You-know-who is this dark, moody, broody guy who has neither time nor need for friends. But everybody knows that he has one – that's you – whether he admits it or not. You're the only one who's ever seemed to be able to talk him into or out of anything, until mini-B came along, at least. So sure, he's seemed a little cold to you of late, especially since he actually says more than two words at a time to some of the rest of us now, but otherwise it could be just one of his usual 'back the hell off' spells.

"As for _Bruce_…I didn't know Bruce until very recently. I still don't really _know_ him, but I feel a lot closer to starting to understand him a little than I ever figured I would. You know he can still be a very closed off person, even without the cowl on. That lessens when he's comfortable, though, it lessens a _lot_, and what we've talked about in those moments, when we've been sitting with a good batch of Alfred's coffee and watching our boys play, is what I'm drawing on for what I'm about to say." He drew a deep breath. "That man is scared to death of losing him, Clark. Not so much to you - he doesn't snarl quite as much anymore when you come up in conversation, at least - but to anything. Don't you _ever_ tell him I told you that, because he'll fricking _kill_ me, but he is."

"I know that he's afraid, but I feel like things aren't back to full normal between him and I."

"…Hasn't it gotten _any_ better since New Year's?"

"It has," he admitted. "I've been over for dinner a couple of times since, but…there's still this wall there. Dick's got one, too, although I think his is all but gone after today. Bruce _has_ been better, but it's not what it was before."

"It probably won't ever be exactly the same, Clark. Like you said, he and I both had a massive life-change in the last twelve months. Kids do weird things to a person. I never knew I could worry this much," he confessed, "and I'll bet Bruce didn't know he could, either. But…look at it this way, okay? He trusts you. Even if he occasionally still has moments where he thinks you're trying to steal Dick, or whatever, he trusts you _intensely_. If he didn't, he would _never_ have left him with you, and especially not when he's sick. I guess what it comes down to is, is that enough for you? Do you _have _to have things back the old way, or are you willing to go from here and see what comes? It might even be better than it was before, you know."

"…Yeah," he breathed, glancing down at the tousled head on his leg. "You're right. I, uh…I don't know why I didn't see it that way until you said it. I should have been able to figure that out."

"Hey, sometimes we can't see what's right in front of our faces. That's why scientists try to recreate each other's results; that fresh set of eyes, that different perspective, can make all the difference. So…did I help?"

"You did, Barry. Thank you. I appreciate it."

"No worries. You let me in on some things I've been wondering about myself, anyway."

"Well…feel better. And Wally, too."

"Same to Dick. G'night, Clark. And, just so you know, I'm around if you ever want to discuss Bruce quirks again."

"Thanks. I'll remember that. Bye."

As he ended the call, the Kryptonian could already feel his mood picking up. _Okay, so it won't be like it was, quite,_ he accepted, running his thumb gently up and down the thin arm it rested on. _But who do I think I'm kidding? _He smiled down at the sleeping child._ It's already better in some ways._


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Okay, I'll admit, this chapter has a lot of plain old 'look at how amazing Dick is' in it. But it's a great way to make Bruce pine and pout *evil grin*. Thanks for reading!**

Bruce had never imagined that he could find himself out of things to do for work, but after throwing himself into his paperwork for the first half of the flight in an attempt to distract himself from worry the well was running pretty dry. _Damn_, he thought as he finished reviewing his last report. _I didn't even bring anything to read._ Grimacing, he swept all of his documents back together and tried to tuck them away in his briefcase. Something blocked them, and he frowned, sticking his hand into the pouch to fix the problem.

_What is this?_ he wondered as he pulled out a creamy envelope. Quickly shoving his work where it belonged, he set everything else aside – the seat beside him had stayed miraculously empty at boarding, a true rarity in first class – and flipped the packet over. _Gotham Academy? When did this arrive? And why the hell wasn't I informed?_ He glared at it for a moment.

"…Sir?"

He turned to the stewardess without wiping the expression from his face, making her jump. _Shit,_ he blinked, trying to put on a smile. "Long day," he said by way of an apology. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, no, sir, it's…it's fine," she watched him cautiously. "Can I get you anything?"

"Ah…some water would be nice."

"I'll be right back with that for you." As she walked towards the front of the plane, he saw her glance backwards at him, clearly still put off.

_Okay, Wayne, time to calm down,_ he blew his breath out slowly between his lips. He knew what the problem was, of course; Dick, and Clark, and…well, mostly those two. Since their confrontation after New Year's, he'd tried not to see the other man as a competitor for the boy's affections. It had worked to an extent, but something still nagged at him, something that had kept the other man's presence distasteful even though he knew it shouldn't have been. _But what?_

Knowing that he was entirely too tired to tackle the question of what was bothering him about Clark, he concentrated instead on the envelope in his hand. _Alfred must have put it on my desk right before he left, and I've just been so busy since then that I didn't see it there and grabbed it along with everything else,_ he decided. _I guess it is about time for quarterly school reports, though…_

Pulling out a sheaf of paper, he ignored the first page, which was clearly a form letter, and flipped through until he found the sheet he was most interested in. The columns for the first and second quarters of the year were empty, since Dick hadn't been a student at Gotham Academy until January, but as his eyes slid down the quarter three grades a broad smile stretched across his lips. _Straight A's. That's my boy._

"Mr. Wayne?" The attendant handed him his drink. "…Good news? Not to pry," she added quickly.

"Well, with the one-eighty in attitude you've witnessed in the last five minutes, I don't blame you for asking," he answered. "And yes. Very good news, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it," she smiled, looking relieved now that he was no longer trying to burn holes through things with his eyes. "Please let me know if I can get you anything else during the flight."

_I should probably flirt with her for the sake of appearances,_ Bruce sighed internally. "Thanks," he tipped her a little wink. "I will…Courtney," he noted her name tag. This time, she giggled as she left him.

Turning back to the report card, he admired the unbroken line of high scores again before slipping the sheet carefully in the back of the stack. _I'll have to text Alfred and let him know,_ he made a mental note. _…I should probably tell him what's going on, too._ He'd purposefully not informed the butler of the boy's illness and his own trip because he knew that he would have wanted to fly back to Gotham immediately, not only because Dick was out of sorts but also to try and save the trouble of finding someone to watch him during Bruce's absence. _He needed to stay with his mother,_ the billionaire reaffirmed his decision to himself. _He hadn't seen her in two years, she's hurt, and he's more than earned a break. If he hears about everything now, at least he'll know that kiddo's taken care of, and that may be enough to keep him from rushing to the airport._

Now that he knew what his son's grades were like, he gave some time to the other documents that had come with the report. To his surprise, several of them were personalized evaluations from his teachers. _I didn't know they went to this level of detail,_ he marveled, pleased. _I'm sure they mentioned it, to Alfred if nothing else, but I don't recall being told we'd get individual notes every quarter. The more we interact with this school, the more I like it._

He went from like to love as he read the faculty's thoughts. _'Reading at college level, with a high rate of comprehension. Writes well-formed, interesting, and grammatically correct essays, frequently exceeding the required length,' _his English teacher explained. _'Immediately grasps mathematical concepts and models with little or no additional explanation, and seems to derive joy from working with numbers. Please contact me regarding having Richard join the school's competitive mathematics team for next year.'_ That, Bruce knew, would make the boy hit the roof with happiness. _'Excellent grasp of global geography. Highly open to the ideas of different cultures and lifeways. Easily sees connections between historical events and between the past and the present.'_ Well, he was such an accepting and well-traveled child that none of that was surprising. The comments of his electives instructors – he'd chosen computer programming and French, the latter coming as a bit of a surprise to Bruce – were equally as glowing.

As delighted as he was with those compliments, the letter from Dick's science teacher was by far his favorite. '_Richard demonstrates superior understanding and use of the scientific method, and frequently applies advanced logic skills to the problems presented. He shows a great interest in and talent for chemistry and physics, and seems to be drawn towards earth sciences as well. His lab reports are meticulous and exact at all times. Despite this, he is careful not to steal the limelight, and works very well with his project partners. Other children frequently request his assistance when they encounter a problem with their experiments and I am otherwise occupied.'_

_Talent for chemistry. Advanced logic skills. Meticulous and exact._ The billionaire thought he might explode with pride.

He read each missive several times, fast at first, then more slowly, savoring the praise. _I think somebody earned a special weeknight patrol,_ he ruled as he finally folded all the papers back into their envelope. He nearly replaced it in his briefcase, then opted instead to place it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. _I don't want those letters getting lost. Hell, I'm tempted to have that one put under glass…_

Glancing out the window to see lights far below, he raised an eyebrow. _Well, I guess I brought something to kill the time, after all. I just didn't realize it._ Turning on the headrest television in front of him, he checked the flight map and found that they were over England. _I wish Dick was here,_ he mused sadly. _He'd love it, the idea that we're flying over Alfred._ _I can just hear you saying something like _'_nothing goes over Alfred's head, except when we do.'_ _You've never even flown in a plane, you said that when we were touring R&D in December…Oh, chum, I feel so awful having left you like I did,_ he moaned silently. _Maybe the next time I have to travel for business it will work for you to come with me. I really ought to ask you where you've already been…I know you spent time in Europe, but where? How much did you see? Were you even old enough to really remember it?_

He paused. _Why have I not already asked you all of those questions? I've had you for almost a year, and there's so much that I still don't know…god, when I stop and think about it I feel like I'm neglecting you. I hope __you__ don't feel that way. I need to work less, and spend more time with you, but…how? _Trying to figure it out, he realized that he had no idea. _I can't just stop working. Well, okay, I could, and absolutely nothing would change for us financially, but __I__ can't. I've got to have my fingers in the company constantly, it's been like that since day one. And cutting back on Batman time isn't even a remote option; besides, that's most of what we do together anymore…_

He stewed over the problem for the remainder of the flight, biting back a ferocious frown when the announcement came over the intercom that they were in a holding pattern, waiting for permission to land. By the time they finally touched down, he was aching to check his phone, his thumb hovering over the power button until permission was given for mobile use. He stared at the screen as it came to life, then felt his shoulders slump when there were no new messages. _I kind of thought you would have wanted to call, kiddo. Are…are you so sick that you can't, or are you so distracted by having Clark take care of you that you didn't want to? _

He couldn't stand it; he had to call, _now_. "Hey, Bruce. You're calling later than I expected. He's fine," Clark answered. "Sleeping."

"…The flight was delayed taking off, and we circled Bruges for thirty minutes trying to land. I would have called earlier otherwise," he explained, both relieved that his son hadn't worsened significantly and disappointed by the fact that that made his second thought about why he hadn't called more likely. "_Excusez-moi_," he said distractedly as he nearly stepped into the aisle in front of someone. "He hasn't slept this whole time, has he?"

"No. He's been up a couple of times, had some medicine, thrown up. The works."

_So no change, really. He must be getting dehydrated by now… _"Is he keeping _anything_ down?"

"Medicine, a popsicle, and a little soda. He drinks a lot right when he wakes up, and then loses it all. I can tell he's trying to go slow, but he's so thirsty he can't help it."

_Oh, Dicky, you've got to drink slow, _he winced. Another thought, this one with potentially far-reaching consequences, occurred to him. "…Give him some crackers after he's sick. He hasn't eaten since dinner on Wednesday; he's going to start dropping weight, and Leslie says she's required by law to report it to CPS if he comes in under the average range for his age on two checkups in a row." _And he was under on his last one,_ he didn't add. _It doesn't matter how much protein he eats or how many muscle-building exercises I give him, he's never going to have anything near Clark or I's sheer mass. He's just got a much leaner build, and from what I saw of his parents I don't expect that to change when he hits puberty._

"With his body type? That's ridiculous, he's not even average _height_ for his age!"

"Tell me about it." He'd picked Dick up from his new school a few weeks earlier, and had been floored by the size difference between his son and the other children. Granted, some of the people he'd seen had obviously been in the upper grades, but the boy he'd been talking to before running to the car – later identified as his lab partner – had still towered over him.

"He wanted to call you while you were in the air."

His heart leapt happily. "You could have let him leave a message," he lectured. _You had to know I'd be expecting him to have tried to call. _

"I thought of that, Bruce, but honestly I think what he really wanted was to hear your voice. And your automated message is still on the default setting."

_Oh. I should change that, at least for while I'm away. Still, though, Clark, didn't it occur to you that maybe __I__ wanted to hear __his__ voice as much as he wanted to hear mine? _"Well…have him call me when he wakes up next time. I don't care what time it is here, at least have him leave me a message if my phone is off," he ordered. Reaching the end of the jetway, he spotted a uniformed driver with a sign standing beside an airport security guard and a motorized cart. The placard bore his name, and even though he was well used to posh treatment, he had to wonder what it had taken to get an unticketed adult past security. _I know we're stricter on some things in the US, but I didn't think that was an easy task over here, either. _"I have to go," he said quickly, ending the call and dropping his phone into his pants pocket. _It probably throws the lines of the suit off, but I don't want to miss it if Dick tries to reach me before I get to the hotel._

"Mister Wayne," the driver nodded, addressing him in mildly accented English. "I hope your flight delay wasn't too bothersome."

"I survived," he replied with a vague smile. "I have checked luggage."

"It will be delivered directly to your hotel room. We've already arranged everything with customs, there's no problem. Please," he stepped back, gesturing to the cart.

_Well, fine then. _After sitting still for so long he would have preferred to walk, but experience told him that wouldn't be received very well by either the driver or the security guard who climbed into the front seat. Stretching his legs in the back, Bruce watched the terminal go past. _Dick would love this, too,_ he pouted silently. _What kid wouldn't love to go faster than everyone else and look over their heads while they were doing it? His only complaint would probably be that he couldn't dawdle and look at where all the other planes are going to or coming from…this is hell. I'm not going to be able to stop thinking like this. Even if I had the cowl with me – as idiotic as it would have been trying to bring that – I don't think I could shut him out of my head right now. Not knowing that he's sick at home…with Clark. Damn it, __why__ does that still bother me so much?!_

It kept coming back up, and it was starting to drive him up the wall. _I know he's not trying to steal him, and I can get over the jealousy I still feel sometimes. Well, I can get over it most of the time,_ he amended. _But what is it about the way they get along that irks me? He pals around with Barry, too, but I don't feel like this about him. If I don't think that Clark's attempting to win him away from me, then what is it?_ He was too tired to think about it with real clarity, but he could tell that it was going to keep him from getting in so much as a nap before his meetings. _I need to reach some sort of resolution on this,_ he determined. They passed a window, and outside he could see dawn breaking. _If the sun's up, Alfred's up,_ he knew. _By the time I get to my room, he should even have had time for a cup of tea. _

_If anyone can help me figure this out, it's him. _


	8. Chapter 8

The room was posh, there was hot coffee waiting on the desk, and his bags had somehow arrived ahead of him. _This is a good hotel,_ Bruce had to admit as he fastened the door chain and kicked off his shoes. _I'll have to let Lucius know that his secretary did a good job picking it._

He took just enough time to visit the bathroom, shrug off his suit jacket, and pour a cup of what smelled like very strong coffee before settling on the couch and pulling out his phone. _I should have ordered breakfast first,_ he realized as Alfred's number rang in his ear. _…No, I'd have wanted to eat as soon as it arrived, and he hates the sound of people chewing. _

"Good morning, Master Wayne," his voice picked up suddenly.

"Alfred. How are things going?" He wanted to jump right into his problem, but knew the butler's raised eyebrow at such a presumptuous beginning would be all but audible through the phone.

"Oh, passably well, sir. Mother is being prepared for her surgery this morning. She seems quite chipper about it, so I don't imagine there will be any problems." He paused. "I understand from Mister Kent that things are less than ideal at home, however? Have you arrived safely in Bruges?"

_I knew you'd know everything that was going on. You always do._ "Yeah. I'm here. And Dick's there," he added quietly.

"…Yes, I imagined you'd be having difficulties with that. Mister Kent was kind enough to explain some of the details to me, however, and it sounds as if your trip was unavoidable."

"It _was_, but…he's _sick_, Alfred." _He's sick, and I left him. You would never have left me when I was sick as a child. Hell, you won't leave me when I'm sick as an __adult__…_

"He seemed to be handling it in his usual exemplary manner when I spoke with him."

"You talked to him? When? What did he say?"

"Calm down, sir," the butler said gently. "I called the manor last night. Most of my conversation with the young master was spent encouraging him to drink as much as he could, since Mister Kent stated that he was having some difficulties convincing him to do so. He asked when I would be returning, and seemed content when I told him I would be home in time for his birthday. I gave a small bit of advice to Mister Kent, and that was all."

"…Did Dick say anything about Clark?" he queried.

"Only that he was taking good care of him. Those were my words, not the boy's; he merely answered affirmatively." There was a pause. "…Is that why you called, Master Wayne?" he asked knowingly. "Regarding Mister Kent?"

"I…yeah," Bruce answered, feeling a little guilty.

"Well, go on, then."

"This isn't a bad time?" He'd wanted nothing more than to spill everything to his old advisor, right up until this moment. Now he hesitated, hating that he couldn't figure out this mystery within himself. _Maybe I just need to think about it some more…_

"Not at all. I'm sitting in mother's recovery room, and she won't be back for several hours at least. We've plenty of time. And I imagine," he added, "that you've torn the question to tatters and still been unable to find a solution, since that's normally the state in which you finally carry your concerns to me. As such, you may as well abandon any thoughts you're having about continuing to bat it about by yourself. We both know you wouldn't have called if you thought that would do you any good."

He heaved such a sigh that it might have been heard in the next room. "I've tried, Alfred," he began. "I've tried so hard to get over this jealousy thing with Clark, and I've more or less succeeded. But something is still bothering me, and I don't know what. I hated leaving Dick earlier, but the problem was that I hated _who_ I was leaving him with as much as I hated the fact that I was leaving him at all. And that's backwards, I know it is. I know part of it is just that Clark has no experience with taking care of a sick child, so I automatically would have preferred that someone who, you know, had a clue as to what they were doing was staying with him, but that's only part of it. And I can't figure out what the rest of this feeling is."

"…Master Wayne, I must assume from the fact that you are so concerned about this that you are, in fact, interested in maintaining your friendship with Mister Kent."

"Of course," flew out of his mouth. _Whoa. Shit, I didn't realize I took our…friendship…that seriously._ "I mean…oh, hell, Alfred."

"He was, if I recall correctly, the first person of your own age that I saw you treat as an equal, perhaps even," he suggested slowly, "as a superior, in some ways."

"…Yeah."

"As such, this recent difficulty between the two of you has been quite painful. For both parties, I'm sure, since I believe Mister Kent places a high value on your comradeship."

"Right," he nodded, remembering Clark's blatant acknowledgement of that fact back in December.

"If you would, then, please enumerate for me the _reasons_ why you want to repair this relationship."

"…What? Why?"

"I think it will be a good exercise, sir, and it may cast some light on your current difficulties."

"Uh…okay. Putting aside the fact that we've been friends-" he could almost say the word without difficulty now, "-for several years, I…well, we have to work together, obviously. And it could be very bad if we were suddenly unable to do that." He stayed vague due to the fact that they were on their civilian phones. "Plus, it's…it's good for Dick. They get along so well, that's why I was jealous, and still am a little bit, but it's also good. He needs to have at least a basic relationship with Clark, and that will be especially true in the future if he sticks with his current extracurricular activities."

"…Anything else?"

"Sometimes I think he's the only one who can control me when we're…out and about. Dick can, too, but not in the same way. If I ever had to be physically restrained, it would have to be Clark." He paused. "And…I enjoy his company," he admitted slowly. "Or at least I used to."

"Very good. Now, tell me all the reasons you would _not_ want to continue associating with Mister Kent."

"It comes down to Dick," he answered readily.

"Really, sir? You just said it was important for them to have a relationship."

"It's the jealousy again, I think. I don't know. I…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know that Clark isn't trying to steal him from me. And I know that Dick wouldn't let him if he _did_ try. But…maybe he _should_, Alfred."

"Pardon?"

_There it is, the sound of the eyebrow of disbelief,_ Bruce grimaced. He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, but the words were coming anyway, and they felt right. "Maybe he _should_ be under Clark's care," he stated, flinching. "I…I don't spend enough time with him, I know I don't, but I don't know how to fix that. Clark would have more time for him, or at least he would be able to make more time, because he's not as much of a workaholic as I am. Besides that, he's got that thing with Lois, and even if it never becomes permanent that's a hell of a lot better of a mother figure than the stream of society ladies I play at courting could ever be. He lives in a safer city, and even if he didn't, his ability to protect him is so much greater than my own…and he's so much softer than I am, than I'll _ever_ be able to be. I'll bet _he_ could manage to answer the way you're supposed to when your kid says they love you," he choked out. _But I can't. I can't, because I'm too fucked up. I can't even think it, I can't string those three little words together in my own damned head, even though they're true. And that's wrong. It's so very, very wrong… _"He deserves better than me, Alfred. I can never be what he deserves. But Clark…Clark probably could be. He'd be a hell of a lot closer than I am, that's for sure."

"…My god, Master Wayne, are you listening to yourself right now?" the Englishman asked incredulously after a moment of flat silence had passed.

"What?" he replied, wiping a few tears from his cheeks.

"Tell me," he tried another tack, "if you _were_ to sign Master Dick over to Mister Kent…what would happen to you? You aren't an imbecile, so you surely don't think things would just reset to the way they were before he came to us. He would haunt you constantly, a thousand times worse than he does now. You are a creature obsessed with control, sir. You have been such since your personality first began to reveal itself, and later events only reinforced that trait. Right now you have a say in virtually every aspect of his life, and that soothes the constant worry you feel for him. That won't last forever, of course, and I can only hope that you will be able to manage when he begins to assert dominance over his own choices, but at least when that time comes you will know that he is able to take care of himself. If there is anyone whom you could bring yourself to pass control over him to whilst you are still breathing, it is Master Dick himself. You are so wrapped up in him, so utterly dedicated to his safety and happiness, that to pass him off to someone else might quite literally drive you insane."

"I let _you_ make decisions about him," Bruce countered hotly.

"Yes, because I tend to make such decisions in line with what I know you would do," came back. "More than once over the past year I have answered a question or request of his with what _you_ would prefer rather than with what seemed like the better option to me. In matters of great importance, I have always deferred to you, not just because it is you, not I, who is and who needs to be his father figure, but because I am all too familiar with how you react when a meaningful decision is reached without your input. There is no need for the boy to see that side of you any more than he already does; as you stated, there is little enough time for the two of you to spend together, and therefore I try to ensure that as much of it as possible is pleasurable and relaxing.

"Furthermore, sir – and this is the vital point – what would Master Dick feel if he knew what you had just said? Hasn't he suffered enough already when it comes to losing those he loves? Even if he understood your logic, he could _never_ understand your callousness. To him, your choice to send him away from you would be a demonstration of a _lack_ of love, not a manifestation of the true intensity of that emotion that he inspires in you. He would forgive you for it eventually because he is generous to a fault, particularly in regards to you, but that wound would never heal completely. We both know that his self-esteem, while it ought to be astronomically high, is in fact a fragile thing; what do you think a perceived rejection from the one person he counts on the most in the world would do to that?"

His voice had risen, and he cut off for a moment before continuing at a more even level. "Emotion does not correspond well to logic," he explained. "Your personal tragedy caused you to eschew emotion, but it couldn't make you stop feeling it. You focus on the facts because it is sheer habit at this point, and that has made you a great success in many things. That is what you are doing now, Master Wayne; focusing on the facts. From the point of view of raw numbers, yes, _perhaps_ Mister Kent would score higher as a good fit for the boy, or for any child, for that matter. But even your own list of facts essential to this case took emotion into account. The key point, if I understood correctly, was that you believe someone else could better express their love to him in the way he needs to receive it. What you failed to take into account is that he doesn't _want_ parental love from anyone else currently living. No matter how fluently and frequently someone else showed him their affection, it would mean next to nothing to him, because it would not be _your _love."

"…I just want what's best for him," he cried quietly. _And if someone else can be a better father to him…well, it doesn't matter how much it hurts me. _

"Then you need to realize that you _are_ what's best for him, sir. As he is what's best for you. Questioning your place and purpose in his life will only hurt the both of you. As for your problem with Mister Kent," he went on, "once you are able to accept that you are the only person in the world – in any world, I imagine – truly suitable to serve as his father figure, that should more or less clear itself up."

"…I don't know what to say, Alfred." _You see everything. You have a slight bias when it comes to me, I know you do, but…you wouldn't have said all of that if you didn't believe it was true. Misleading me on this would only lead to more pain down the road, and I know you wouldn't do that._

"There is nothing you need say to _me_, Master Wayne. This is just one of many tasks I agreed to accept long ago as part of the job."

"I didn't know butlers had to be accredited psychologists, too," Bruce joked lamely.

"…That was not the position I was referring to, sir."

"…Yeah. I know," he whispered.

"…Well. Unless there is something else you needed to discuss in order to sleep, I believe you ought to try and get at least a little rest before your meetings begin."

"Oh, Christ, it's _seven_?" he noted the time. "Great. The meeting is at ten."

"You could order your room service ahead of time, sir. If you leave explicit instructions, they will knock on your door until you answer. You should be able to get nearly two hours that way, and be assured of waking up in time to eat and dress."

"…Alfred, how do you know so much?" he asked exhaustedly.

A little chuckle surprised him. "Interestingly, the young master made that same inquiry last week. I'm glad I've managed to keep at least one secret after all this time…"

"…So you aren't going to tell me?" he smiled slightly.

"It wouldn't really be fair, sir, as I didn't tell Master Dick."

"Oh. Yeah, he wouldn't be too happy about that. _But_," his pleased expression grew as he spied the envelope sticking up out of his jacket pocket, "he will be happy about his grades."

"Did you just look at them? They've been on your desk since before I left."

"I didn't see them until today. The envelope ended up in my briefcase somehow."

"…And? I presume they're acceptable?"

"I'm not going to get mad at him for bringing home straight A's, are you?"

"Certainly not," a proud reply was returned.

"Wait until you read the letters from his teachers."

"Complimentary, sir?"

"_Very_."

"Well, I expected no less, to be honest. On that note, I've been meaning to tell you that he finally seems challenged by and interested in his schoolwork. I believe we may have found the proper level for him."

A weight that Bruce hadn't realized he was still carrying lifted at those words. "That's good," he nodded.

"It is indeed. Thank you for telling me about his rankings; I'd been wondering why you hadn't mentioned it before now, and feared there was a problem. In any case, that's all settled now, so I will let you get on with your day. Be so kind as to let me know when you'll be flying home, would you?"

"I'm hoping for tonight, as soon as the signing is over with. But I'll let you know. I'll, uh, call you when I land, too." Alfred always asked him to check in when he had to travel as a civilian, but he had never been good about it.

"It would be delightful if you would, for once, Master Wayne."

"Sure." He stopped for a second. "…Thanks, Alfred."

"Sleep well, sir."

He sat for several minutes after hanging up and stared into space. _I would never have figured out what was bothering me if Alfred hadn't led me to it,_ he mused. _It was right there, though. Why is it that I can see all the details clearly when something doesn't involve me, but the minute I need to be introspective I shut down?_

Glancing at the clock again, he decided that that was a question he could tackle later. Setting up his morning room service as quickly as he could, he fell into the much-too-soft bed, hand clasped loosely around his phone. _He might call while I'm sleeping. In about two hours would be perfect; I can't imagine a better alarm clock than talking to you, chum… _Full of that hope, he dropped immediately into slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

_I don't wanna wake up,_ Dick moaned quietly to himself. He knew how it would go; he'd open his eyes, drink something because the inside of his mouth felt like dusty elephant skin, and then be sick. _And I don't wanna be sick_. _So if I don't wake up, if I just go back to sleep, maybe I won't be. I won't even know my tongue is all shrivelly if I'm sleeping…_

That had been his litany for the past ten minutes, but his body wasn't cooperating. His churning guts pulled him inexorably towards full consciousness, the low buzz and light from the television becoming more and more bothersome as he rose. With a groan, he pulled a blanket over his head, trying to block everything out.

"…Hey, pal," Clark's voice reached him as if from a distance. "You awake under there? It's just about medicine time again."

"Nooo…" he whined back. "I'm asleep."

"That's some pretty good talking in your sleep you're doing, then," the hand on his arm tightened gently. "Can I undercover your head, at least? I like to see who I'm talking to, even if they _are_ asleep."

"…Can you turn off the TV? It hurts."

_It __hurts__?_ The Kryptonian frowned deeply. _That's new. And probably not good._ He clicked the power button quickly. "There. I don't like that pundit, anyway," he tried to joke. "…Dick? I'm going to move the blanket now." He peeled it back slowly, making the boy turn and bury his face against his leg. "What's wrong?"

"Hurts…" he sniffled.

"Your head?"

"Yeah…"

"How's your stomach?"

"Icky."

"…Okay. Tell you what, why don't you sit up and drink something? Or have a popsicle? You haven't tried the grape ones yet." _Drink something. Anything._

He didn't want to, he truly didn't, but Clark was being so nice, and it was what Alfred and Bruce would both want him to do. "…Okay," he whispered unhappily.

"Yeah? Good. I'll be right back with it." When the child made no motion to let him up, he sighed. "Dick, I'm going to help you sit, all right?"

"Kay."

He levered him carefully sideways, lifting him so that he slouched against the back of the couch. Once he was sure he would stay there rather than falling over – the boy was making no effort to hold himself up at all – he patted his knee and headed for the kitchen. _This is getting out of hand,_ he grimaced. _It was one thing when he was just pouting about drinking, but he's barely even responding to me now. _Returning to the den, he froze in the doorway. "…Dick?" _Where did he go?_

It didn't take super hearing to catch the coughing coming from the bathroom across the hall. Bruce, he knew, would have barged right in, but he didn't want to be invasive if he could help it. "You okay, pal?" he knocked. His only answer was more retching. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before cracking the door to find him on his knees, head vised between his hands as dry heaved. _That looks hellish,_ he winced, coming inside immediately and sitting on the floor beside him. The spasms ceased suddenly, leaving Dick panting, eyes clenched shut against the tears that slipped out anyway and ran to his chin. There was no way Clark could restrain himself before such a scene, so he pulled the silently crying child into his arms and just held him. _God, how do human parents put up with this? _he wondered, awestruck._ Kids get sick all the time, supposedly; is it always this painful for the adults in their lives to watch? Maybe it's a __good__ thing Bruce isn't here, he'd probably have pulled half his hair out by now…then again, he'd probably have a better clue of what to do, if only because he's at least been through the same thing himself and knows what helps._

Shaking his head, he stood and carried his passenger back into the den, picking up the sweating popsicle he'd dropped on the vanity along the way. "Here we go," he said quietly, occupying one of the deep armchairs that flanked the sofa and handing him the ice stick. "You just work on that, okay? We'll sit right here for a little while."

Dick took it shakily, fingers sliding on the slippery wrapper. After staring at it dully for a few seconds, he felt the limbs still encircling him give an encouraging squeeze, and finally brought it to his mouth. The cold wetness sparked an angry thirst, and he bit off a chunk, crunching it and pressing the pieces against the insides of his cheeks so they would dissolve faster. In thirty seconds the popsicle was gone, leaving him to lick the last drops of grape-flavored meltwater from the clear plastic. Clark said his name, and he looked up, embarrassed at having been caught doing something so desperate.

"…You want another one?"

"Yes," he croaked, eyes wide in needy anticipation.

_Oh, thank god. _"Okay. Are you ready?"

"Uh-huh."

He shifted him into one arm once they had reached the kitchen, and was surprised to feel his load shift when he opened the freezer door. Glancing down, he found the boy leaning over, trying to get into the draft. "Does the cold air feel good?"

"Yeah…"

"Here." Repositioning, he let the full blast hit him for a few seconds while he grabbed two more popsicles. "…I've got to close it now, pal," he said apologetically.

A sigh reached his ears. "Mmkay."

Back in the chair, he watched as Dick quickly created another pair of empty wrappers. "Think you're ready for some medicine? After you take it you can call Bruce if you want."

"…Sure," he nodded, galvanized by the prospect of phoning his guardian. He downed the cherry liquid in one go, handed the cup back, and then gasped as his body tried to rebel. _No. I don't want to throw up again. I __just__ did that. I get to be done for a while now, _he thought hard, hiding against Clark's shoulder. He hiccupped, and bit down hard on his lip. _I promised I wouldn't be sick on him. I promised. And I can't call Bruce if I'm puking… _

"Ah…are you okay?" The boy tilted his head up, a determined glare on his face, and half-shrugged. "Working on it?" He nodded, then went pale, eyes darkening to cobalt in mild panic. "…Need the garbage can?" Something told him that it was time to move, and he obeyed it, getting him over the container before the question finished leaving his mouth. _Don't do it, Dick. Don't lose all the water you just drank, please. I really don't want to have to put you on an IV,_ he begged, waiting as the boy hovered rigidly.

He fought with himself. _I don't __wanna__ throw up anymore! All I want to do is talk to Bruce,_ he groused stubbornly, glaring into the folds of the white garbage bag. _I can't talk to him if I'm being sick, it'll worry him. _With an awful slowness, his nausea ceded ground, falling back down to a manageable level. When he knew there wouldn't be a surprise rally any time soon, he dropped away from the bin, a broad arm catching across his back before he collapsed all the way to the floor.

"That," the Kryptonian opined after observing what he had no doubt had been a titanic battle of mind over body, "was impressive. Bruce is going to be really, really proud you were able to hold back." An exhausted but bright smile at those words reminded him what – besides the fact that he was deemed worthy to fight at Batman's side –had caught his attention about the boy to begin with. "How do you feel?"

"Really awful," he said truthfully. "But…I didn't throw up again," was tacked on triumphantly.

"Think you can manage some crackers? Bruce said you should try and eat something."

"Can I call first?" the child requested immediately, struggling to support himself. Even the still-present discomfort in his abdomen was overruled by the prospect of hearing the voice he craved. "Can I call him now, then have crackers? Please?"

"Relax, of course you can," Clark smiled warmly. _Bruce, you really are a very lucky man. He is absolutely dedicated to you; I hope you realize that. I would almost bet that he was only able to keep everything down just now because he was afraid I wouldn't let him call you if he threw up again._ "Up we go." Snatching him off the floor, he deposited him on the couch and handed him his cell phone. "Can you figure out how to dial? Oh, sorry, the passcode sequence-"

"I already got it." Realizing that that wasn't something he should have just known off hand, he looked up guiltily. "…I saw you put it in earlier. I didn't think I'd remember it, but…sorry," he blushed, the color standing out boldly on his still-pallid skin.

"It's okay," he laughed. "I shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

"…Probably not."

"I'll be back with some crackers," he said as he moved away, scooting the abandoned garbage can closer just in case. _Please answer, Bruce. You should have seen his face light up when I said he could talk to you…_

Finding the contacts list with relative ease, Dick scrolled down to the right name and let his finger hover over it. _Please answer, Bruce. I really want to talk to you…_ As soon as his finger touched the screen, he yanked the device to his ear, trying to picture the hotel room on another continent where, surely, a familiar phone was preparing to ring at this very moment. After a few seconds, however, it clicked over to voice mail, and his expectant grin drooped into a disappointed pout.

_I guess I can still leave him a message,_ he moped as the automated recording played._ Then he'll know I called, and maybe he'll call back…_ "Hi, Bruce," he said quietly, trying to keep his sadness out of his tone. "…Clark said I could call and talk to you…and…well, I miss you…and I hope you get to come home soon…so…yeah. Have a good meeting, and…don't worry, I'm okay. Clark's doing a good job. Maybe I can talk to you later? When you're not busy, I mean. Yeah. Okay, I'm…I'm gonna go now. I love you." He paused. "…Bye."

Listening from just outside the doorway, the Kryptonian felt like punching the wall. Had it been his own home, he probably would have. _Of all the times to not answer your phone,_ he cursed silently. Looking at his watch, he calmed. _Oh. I didn't realize how long it had been since I spoke with him. He must be in his meeting already. I should have said something sooner, but he was in no state to talk until those popsicles were in his system…_ Steeling himself for tears, he turned the corner and crossed the room, joining him on the couch. "…No luck, huh?"

"No," he shook his head, staring at the mobile in his hands as if he might be able to wish it into ringing. "…Here's your phone back. Thanks for letting me try. I should probably use the house phone next time, though, so it doesn't cost you money. It's probably really expensive to call Europe."

"It's not as much as you might think," Clark answered. _What do I say to him? Really, what could I possibly say that would make him feel better?_ "…You probably only missed him by a few minutes," he tried. _Oh. That sounded much better in my head. Shit._

"Yeah…" _Which means it's going to be a while before they get a break and Bruce can check his messages._ He swiped at his eyes.

"Well, I brought your crackers," he offered the package. _Please don't be so upset that you don't want to eat now. Please._

_I don't really want to, but…that was kind of the unspoken deal,_ he sighed internally. _I'd call Bruce, then have crackers. I have to have one, at least. _"Thanks." Licking the salt from the top of one, he rested in the corner where the arm of the couch met the back and stared towards the television.

"…Should I put the movie back on? I think we're getting near the end," Clark suggested. _There's got to be something that will cheer you up at least a little. You seemed so much better for a minute there, when you thought you were going to get to talk to Bruce…_

"My head still kind of hurts," he revealed. "But…could we just talk? It's not as hard to pause that if I throw up again."

"You bet, pal." It was a shift, to be sure, but at least if they were having a conversation the boy might be distracted from his stomach. "What do you want to talk about?"

"…I wish you could have just flown him to Bruges. Then he wouldn't have had to waste like eight hours on a plane. He could have been here." _With me_, he didn't say out loud.

_Oof,_ the man on the other end of the sofa winced. He knew the words were meant as an observation, not an indictment, but they aroused a mild guilt in him anyway. "Well…there wouldn't really have been a good way to do that. The tickets were already paid for, it would have looked strange if they hadn't been used but he still showed up in Belgium."

"…I guess that's true," he sighed. "I should have thought of that."

"You're sick. It's okay," he reached over and patted his foot.

Dick looked at him for a long, wordless moment, chewing pensively, then swallowed and scooted down the length of the couch to him. "…How come he's so mean to you?" he asked, leaning against his side. It was a question that had been plaguing him since before New Year's. He'd thought that the answer had been revealed and the problem resolved on the day of the snowball melee with Alfred, Barry, and Wally, but Bruce had continued to act strangely towards the Kryptonian since then. It hadn't been as bad lately, it was true, but things were still decidedly off.

"That's a good question," Clark admitted.

"Has he _always_ been like that to you? I mean, he can't have been, right? You wouldn't be his friend if he was."

"No, not…not always," he spoke cautiously. _He's smart, if you give too much away he'll figure out when it really started. There's no reason for Dick to know that things were normal until he started to warm up to me…_

"It really _is_ because of me, isn't it?"

_Oh, damn it._ "What makes you think that?" he tried to say lightly.

"Bruce basically told me as much. I just…I guess I was just hoping it was something that was easier to fix."

"Easier to fix? Easier how?"

"Easier as in Bruce not having to somehow realize things about himself. He's, uh…he's not so good at that. But you didn't hear that from me," he added quickly.

"I won't even have to lie," he chuckled. "I've known him long enough that I managed to figure that much out for myself. You're right; he's not very good at it. Not at all."

…But what if he doesn't figure it out? I think it's really deep down, Uncle Clark; normally I can kind of tell what's bothering him, but not this time. All I know is it's something about you. It's not like it was before, though, it's not like he's jealous of you, it's…it's almost like he's angry at…himself? I dunno," he shook his head.

_Did he just…did he just call me 'Uncle' Clark?_ The Kryptonian felt a bit unstable for a moment as he grappled with the term and everything that it implied. _…I think I can live with that._ "Well…he'll figure it out. He _is_ the 'world's greatest detective.'"

"Yeah, but…what if he _doesn't_?"

"Then I guess I'm just going to have to get used to being his verbal punching bag, as delightful as that prospect is. But I wouldn't abandon him," he reassured. "I'd still be his friend."

"You shouldn't have to put up with that, though. You're nice to him, even when he's mean. He should at least be civil back."

"…Bruce's blood type is surly. He's a recipient of kindness, not a donor."

Dick laughed, but it was short-lived. "Not with me, though," he pointed out.

"You are a very special exception," Clark explained gently.

"But _why_? I'm not special, I'm just…I'm just _me_."

_That's why you're special. _"I don't know, pal. All I know is that J'onn says you two have some sort of unusual connection."

"…Martian Manhunter said that?"

"Yup."

"…Huh. Like…like what kind of connection?"

"I can't explain it. Maybe he can, but I can't. But you get him, Dick, you get him and you get _to_ him in some strange way. I know you were pretty…distracted…when you first came here, and when you first met him, but…he's a very different person now than he was a year ago. You brought out something that had been hidden for much longer than I've known him."

"Alfred said something like that to me once, too. I just…I just wish I knew _how_, you know?"

"Why does it matter?" he twisted to look down at him curiously.

Serious blue eyes stared back. "Maybe if I knew how I did it, I could do it more. Maybe…maybe I could fix him all the way."

"…Do you think _you_ can be 'fixed all the way?'" He knew he was treading on very dangerous ground, referencing the deaths of his parents so obliquely, but the boy had lead them here, and he didn't want to shut the conversation down. Not when it was so damned interesting.

"I know I can't be," he whispered back. "But he got me as close as I can ever get. I just want to do the same thing for him, you know?"

"…You already have. Trust me on that. And if you don't believe me, ask Alfred. He'll tell you the same thing, I'd bet."

"I wish I could do more, Uncle Clark. I wish I could _be_ more, so that maybe he could, too."

_There it is again_, he thought. _I can __definitely_ _get used to that._ "If you were any brighter than you already are, Dick, you'd rival the sun. And then we'd all be in trouble. In fact, I think some of us already are," he dropped his arm off the back of the couch long enough to ruffle his hair. "So I guess my advice is to just…stay constant. Stay who you are. Don't let anyone – not even him, Dick – try to change that."

"…You know, for someone without much experience with kids, you're pretty good at this."

"_I'm_ terrible at it. That was actually something my Pa said to me a long time ago," he admitted wistfully. "_He_ was full of good advice. I'm full of…something else, probably."

"…Your Earth parents?" he picked at a string on the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting to meet the man's eyes as he pried.

"Yes."

"Are…are they…?"

"…Yes. But they had a full life," he said quickly, not wanting the boy to get the wrong idea. "And I was an adult."

"Oh. Well…that's good. I'm sorry, though." _I wonder if it hurts less if you're grown up when it happens…_

"Hey." He waited until their gazes met. "So am I."

He knew what he meant. _Sorry __your__ parents died. Sorry you were a kid. Sorry you had to see it. Sorry, sorry, sorry._ Even though Clark, like everyone else except Bruce who had said that particular five letter word to him over the past twelve months, had no idea what he was talking about, it wasn't as irksome coming from him as it had been from many of the others. "…Thanks," he answered. "Me, too. But…at least I got lucky. I got Bruce, and Alfred, and Robin. And you," he smiled bashfully. "And that's a _lot_ of luck." A yawn suddenly split his face. "I think my medicine's kicking in…"

"Good. That means you kept it down long enough for it to work."

"My stomach still feels bad, though. And my head. And I'm tired," he confessed. "Everywhere. I'm tired _everywhere_. That's ridiculous."

"It'll go away," he assured, hoping he wasn't lying through his teeth.

A sly look was sent up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Not in the least," he laughed, caught. "But I _can_ tell you're feeling a little better."

"Yeah, a little. Talking was nice. Can we do it again sometime?" he requested, slithering down to rest his head on the man's leg again.

"Any time you want, pal. Knock on my door or pick up the phone," he offered, pulling one of the blankets over him as he stretched out.

"…Really?" he queried sleepily, eyes closing.

"Really."

"…Thanks, Uncle Clark." The last syllable tumbled from his lips as he fell asleep.

_Third time's the charm,_ the Kryptonian grinned. _Bruce is going to flip_. _But I __love__ it._


	10. Chapter 10

Out of respect for the fact that the television had seemed to cause Dick such pain earlier, Clark left it off, sneaking away instead to the library and snagging an anthology of Twain that he had occupied himself with on more than one previous visit. Returning to the couch, he carefully positioned the boy's head back on his leg, tucked the covers around him more securely, and opened his book.

An hour and a half later he felt him begin to stir, and frowned. _You should only be about halfway through this nap cycle, _he fretted, setting the tome aside and watching as he struggled to wake up. _So what's changed?_

"…Uncle Clark?" He sounded confused.

"Right here, pal," he answered immediately, touching his shoulder. "What's up? Thirsty?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll get you a couple more popsicles." _He kept those down, at least, whereas he kept losing the ginger ale,_ he logicked, preparing to move him over and stand.

"No, don't leave me!"

He froze at that unexpected cry. "Whoa, hey, I'm not going anywhere," he promised. _What the hell is going on?_ "I'm just going to the kitchen, and I'll be right back." His hand moved up to brush briefly through his hair. "It's okay."

"…Bruce left me," he said dejectedly.

_This isn't right. He knows why Bruce had to go, and he was fine with it earlier._ "Um…Dick…I'm at a loss here," he confessed. "Can you explain what's going on?"

"I don't feel good."

"I can't give you more medicine yet. I'm sorry, but the bottle says four hours, and it's only been two," the Kryptonian explained helplessly.

"But it helps me sleep…I wanna go back to sleep…"

"So close your eyes, then."

"It doesn't work that way…" he whined.

"Okay, do you know what we're going to do?" Clark asked. "We're going to go into the kitchen together, and you're going to eat a popsicle while I make a phone call. Okay?"

"Don't leave me," he almost threatened.

"I'm not," he swore, picking him up. _This is wrong. This isn't him. He was doing so much better, or at least I thought he was…well, I'll call his doctor, like Bruce said I should if he got worse._ He set him on the counter just long enough to get him a popsicle, and turned back to find him staring dully into the middle distance. "…Dick?" he asked. _His lips are cracked. Were they like that before? I wish I knew if there was any lip stuff around, Chapstick, Carmex, __something__. _"Here. Can you eat this for me? It will help make you feel better, like last time, remember?"

"I don't want to."

"…Bruce would want you to eat it," he tried what he could only hope was a trump card.

Something glimmered behind his gaze. "Well then maybe he should call and tell me himself," he grumbled, but he finally reached for the ice pop.

_I wish he __would__ call,_ Clark lamented silently as he studied the list of contacts on the side of the fridge. _He could talk to you, and then tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do for you right now. But I know he's still in his meetings, because I don't see how he could possibly have gotten the message you left and not immediately called back. _"Here we go," he muttered, dialing Leslie's number. As each ring passed without an answer, his uncertainty grew. Finally it went to voicemail, and he explained the situation in brief before giving his cell number and all but begging for a call back as soon as possible. _…Alfred,_ he decided. _Call Alfred._

A minute later he was leaving another message, trying to keep panic out of his voice. _Where __is__ everyone? I don't know what to do!_ "…Hey, Dick?"

"…Yeah?"

"Listen…I can't get in touch with anyone, but I think you're pretty dehydrated right now."

"…My stomach hurts. And my head."

"I know," he nodded. "So I need to ask you a question, okay? Alfred told me about something you can take, called, ah…Pedialyte? Does that sound familiar?"

"Yeah…it tastes gross, though."

"Does it work?"

"I dunno. I guess."

_Well, if Alfred suggested it…_ Clark thought. "Well, we can go to the store and get you some of that, or I can take you to Mount Justice and we can put you on an IV. What do you want to do?"

For all that the Zeta beam hadn't made him feel sick any of the times he'd used it, Dick knew that it wasn't uncommon even for people who had traveled in that manner dozens of times to be queasy when they arrived at their destination. _I don't wanna throw up again._ With his stomach still being contrary, it didn't seem worth the risk; he was much more confident that he could weather a car ride without incident. "…Store," he said firmly.

"The store? You're sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Does Alfred ever take you with him when he goes shopping?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you remember where the store is? Or what it's called?"

"It's down off of…a hundred thirty-ninth and Van Buren," he remembered, concentrating hard on the map of the city that Bruce had made him memorize months earlier.

"Do you think it will have what we need?"

"Yeah. It's like thirty minutes away, though."

"…There's nothing closer?"

"Huh-uh. Don't think so. Just little corner stores."

_Damn. No wonder none of them deliver. So much for the perks of living 'in the country.'_ "Okay. Finished with your popsicle?"

"Um…" He looked down at his slightly sticky hands as if he couldn't quite remember. "Yeah."

_Get going, Clark, he needs that stuff, _he motivated himself. _He might be a little better mood now that he's woken up and had some liquid, but he still doesn't seem well. _"Then let's go," he picked him up again and headed for the foyer, stopping only to grab one of the blankets from the den along the way.

Fortunately he'd been in the garage more than once, and as such knew where the key box was. Unsure as to how obsessive Gotham's resident paparazzi might be when it came to recognizing a Wayne-owned vehicle, he took the most discreet thing he could find and got the boy into the back. "…What about my seat?" his voice stopped him just before he closed the door.

"Aren't…aren't you _in_ a seat?" he asked, completely lost.

"My booster seat?"

"Oh. Uh…do you have to have it?" _I really don't want to search every car in here for the last place it was left._

"I'm too small to ride without it," Dick grimaced. "It's _stupid_. Alfred says it's the law, though."

"Aahh…crap." _Well of __course__ it's against the law for you to not have it. Today would be too simple otherwise._ He paused. _Wow, I think his mood is rubbing off on me._ "Do you know where it is?"

"…You know, I ride without it in the Batmobile, so…maybe I don't need it?"

"No one would dare pull over Batman for a child being out of a booster seat. _I'd_ probably end up with a five hundred dollar fine, though." _And the last thing I need to do is give CPS more reasons to sniff around. Even just what Bruce has mentioned them trying to make a case out of in the past is scary enough. They'd jump on that like…well, like the media would, _he thought, well aware that members of his own profession could be just as invasive when it came to lambasting those who were better known than they themselves. Hadn't he just been thinking about avoiding photographers who might recognize the car, after all? He glanced over the front row and spied no fewer than three of the iconic hood ornaments the boy had suggested. "…_Which_ Mercedes, Dick?"

"The black one. DX775G247."

After a second of processing he realized that he'd been given the license plate number. _Jeez, Gotham, long enough for you? Metropolis isn't exactly a one-horse town, and even our plates are only seven digits._ "You have his license plate memorized? Why?" He met his eyes, read the look in them, and they spoke the obvious answer together.

"Bruce."

The seat was, in fact, in that particular car, and once he was properly boosted and buckled, the blanket tucked over him to keep him from getting cold during the ride, Dick let his head loll, staring out the window. He'd used what little energy he'd saved up between his nap and popsicle in helping Clark get them ready to go, and before they were even out of sight of the house the man found him asleep in the rearview. _Poor kid,_ he thought as they passed through the heavy gates at the base of the long, winding driveway. _Sick, dehydrated, and separated from the two people most able to make him feel better. I __really__ don't want to stick him in the mountain medical bay. I just hope this place we're going has what he needs… _He punched the street corner Dick had mentioned into the GPS on the dash and was relieved to see it would require only a few turns to get there. As he returned his hand to the wheel, he caught sight of the clock. _Scratch that; I just hope they're __open__ at seven in the morning._

The trip was silent except for the pleasant female voice that occasionally ordered a turn. Dick slept soundlessly, and the Kryptonian lost himself in thought as he drove. _As much as I love it,_ he mused, _'Uncle' Clark might be in a lot of trouble when 'Daddy' Bruce finds out about my new title. If he still thinks for some reason that I'm trying to take Dick from him – as insane as that is – it's not going to be pretty the first time he hears him call me that. _Although the man couldn't hurt him physically – for all that the billionaire's looks, and occasionally words, threatened kryptonite, Clark didn't believe that he would ever resort to using it except in a a case of absolute necessity – Bruce's capacity to injure him emotionally was growing with every hour he spent with the boy.

_I don't want him to lock Robin away because of one little word,_ he ruminated._ He should grow up in the community, the same as Kid Flash should, and any other children that happen to be introduced to a life of defending justice by our members. If he overreacts and tries to keep him away from me not just in the civilian world but entirely, he'll be cutting him off from people he deserves to know, people who can help guide him along his path. _He paused. _Maybe that's the problem; he's afraid of someone else having a bigger impact than he does. It's a foolish fear, but…maybe it's a father's fear, something I can't understand. Either way, it's no easy job, what we do, and for a child as young as he is…there are going to be a lot of hurdles along the way. Batman isn't necessarily going to be the right person to help him over all of them. The boys will both need adults that they can turn to with questions they can't ask civilians. He __can't__ be allowed to take that safety net away from him._

_Still, how do I prevent it? I can't ask Dick to stop calling me 'Uncle;' for one thing, even if I explained he'd still be hurt, and for another, I don't __want__ him to stop. So it wouldn't be fair to either of us. Plus…the label's not inappropriate. Batman and Superman have watched each other's back through a lot of very deep shit in the past, and if he can get over himself enough to realize that, we're bound to do so plenty more times in the future. The name Dick's given me is just the standard title for a role I'd very much like to fill. I know I have no background for it, but…I'd like the opportunity to at least try._ _I just can't figure out how I'm ever going to convince Bruce, especially, _he glanced in the rearview again, _if he doesn't start feeling better soon._ He rolled ideas back and forth in his head until the GPS announced that he had reached his destination. _Finally._ There was a spot open directly in front of the building bearing a national grocery chain's sign, and he took it. "Dick? Time to wake up, pal. We're at the store."

"Mnn…okay," he dragged his eyes open.

"Feeling any better?" he turned to ask. He'd been expecting more of the unhappy attitude he'd been dealt back at the manor, but the boy didn't seem as out of it as he had before.

His forehead bunched as he checked in with himself. "…Yeah. I'm still really, really thirsty, and my head still hurts, but…my stomach feels a little better. Maybe the car ride helped?"

"Maybe. I have no idea if car rides usually help upset stomachs," he reminded him with a smile.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"No reason to be sorry. Think you can walk inside by yourself, or do you need me to carry you?"

"Um…do I have to walk the whole time we're in there?"

"We'll get a cart. There should be plenty of room for you and the things we need to get."

"Okay. Then I think I can make it."

_Yes. That's what I wanted to hear._ He stuck close as they entered the store, then lifted him easily into the basket. "…Maybe you should take your coat off," he suggested as they rolled into the first aisle. "Won't you get hot?"

"I'm cold right now."

"Oh. Well, I guess you should keep it on, then."

"Mm-hmm." He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. "What're we buying again?"

"Pedialyte," he frowned slightly. _You remember Bruce's license plate number, but not what we came to the store for. _"...Do you think you could hold down some plain water?"

"…Maybe? My stomach's not great, but it's not as bad as it was. I could try, I guess," he said begrudgingly.

"Good. Work on this," he picked up a bottle of water, broke the seal on the lid, and handed it to him.

"But we haven't paid for it!" he said, shocked.

"I'll pay for it when we're done. I just think we should take advantage of your stomach not acting up to try and get some fluids into you."

The boy looked mildly uncomfortable, but he took a sip. The level in the bottle slowly dropped as they made their way around the store, popsicles and their primary objective both landing next to him in the cart. "…It's really quiet in here," he commented as he waited for Clark to finish comparing the backs of two bottles of children's flu medicine.

"Yeah, it is," he answered distractedly.

"…What's wrong?"

"These medicines are _exactly_ the same."

"…Okay?"

"So…is one better than the other?" _Why am I __so__ awful at this? It shouldn't be this difficult to figure out which type to buy. And I only compared two out of the dozen types that say 'children's flu' on them…_

"Lemme see," Dick reached out for them. "Whoa. Reading isn't usually this hard," he closed one eye so the small type would stop moving when he focused on it. After a minute he turned both around and looked at the front. "Oh. This one's better," he announced, dropping one box between his knees and handing the other back.

"…How can you tell? They treat the same symptoms, and have the exact same ingredients. Am I missing something?" _I wish I'd asked the lady yesterday how she knew which one to get, instead of just buying the exact same thing she did,_ he kicked himself.

The boy cocked his head. "…You're funny when you're flustered, Uncle Clark," he said, not unkindly. "It's easy." He held up the type he'd chosen. "This one's cherry flavor. The other one's orange. Orange medicine is gross. So…all other things being equal, this one's _way_ better. Plus," he added, "it has an astronaut on the front of it. Although I'm not really sure _why_ there's an astronaut, unless they throw up a lot." He stared at it for a second, clearly considering that question, then put it back on the floor of the cart. "Astronauts are pretty cool, anyway."

_...Well, okay then. Cherry is better than orange, and astronauts are cool. Got it._ "Anything else that would make you feel better, so long as we're here?"

"Umm…oyster crackers?"

"Really? Oyster crackers?"

"Yeah…my mom used to give them to me." His face grew serious. "She liked them because she said the way they were packaged took up less space in the cupboards, and our kitchen was, like, two cabinets and a stove, so…" he trailed off, playing with the Velcro on one of his jacket sleeves. "I dunno. It was just a thought. I guess we have other kinds at home, though."

_That…came out of nowhere,_ Clark swallowed hard. _How often does that happen for him? Just a normal day and then…dead parents? _"I didn't mean to bring that up, Dick," he apologized sincerely. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It just comes up sometimes, you know? I wasn't even thinking about her, and then…oyster crackers. I guess the things you remember about a person when they're gone are funny," he shrugged, looking at his hands.

"…Do you know which aisle the crackers are in?"

"We can get some?" he asked, his head coming up.

"Yeah, pal. We can get some."

A couple of minutes later they were line for the single open register. The elderly woman at the front pulled out a stack of coupons just as they joined the queue, eliciting a groan from the bulky man in between them and her. "C'mon, I'm in a hurry," he muttered.

Everyone, it seemed to Clark, was in a hurry this morning. The few carts he'd seen darting through the rows were driven by people with pinched, nervous faces; those joining in line behind them shuffled their feet anxiously. The only person he saw who didn't seem impatient was the coupon-bearer, who was eagerly explaining to the cashier that she'd been coming here for thirty years and was _always_ allowed to use double discounts on cat food. After observing his fellow shoppers for a few minutes, he turned to Dick to ask if Gothamites always went about their business looking as if they expected a boogeyman to leap out at any second. _Uh-oh_, his train of thought derailed at the boy's sallow complexion. _Not again._ "…Dick?"

"Can you let me out of the cart, please?" he whispered.

"…The water upset your stomach again, didn't it?'

"Yeah. 'M sorry. I tried to go slow…"

"It's okay," he sighed, coming around to lift him down to the floor before crouching in front of him. "Should I come with you?"

"…No. I can manage. You don't want to lose your place." Swallowing hard, he tried to smile. "I know where I'm going."

"You're _sure_?"

"Uh-huh." He started suddenly, and bit his lip. "Gotta go," he uttered, then shuffled off quickly towards the back of the store.

"Damn it," he breathed as he watched him disappear back between the shelves. _I thought we were done with this...I should have known better by now. Is he __ever__ going to stop throwing up?_

"He's got that kiddie flu, does he?" the man who had been ticked about the coupon lady asked.

"Yeah," Clark sighed, resuming his position behind the cart.

"Mine, too," the fellow gestured to the basket dangling from the end of his arm. "Both of 'em. Wife's home with them, or I'd have had to drag them along with me. But hey, at least it isn't as crowded as usual."

"…Is it normally busy at…" he checked his watch, "eight on a Friday morning?"

"Sure. People grabbing something to get them through the last day of the workweek, you know, and the stay-at-home folks whose spouses got paid. A lot of them like to come out first thing in the morning. I only know that cause I work in one of these types of places. Not this one, it's just close to my house, you know? Used to do construction, till I screwed my back up too bad. Anyway, I guess people are staying home today on account of earlier. Probably why there's only one register open, too; everyone else probably called out 'sick.'" he drew air quotes around the last word with his fingers.

"…I'm afraid I don't understand. Why would so many people do that?" he asked, puzzled.

The man gave him a crosswise look. "…You from out of town or something, mister?"

"Well…yeah, actually. I'm just watching my sick…nephew." _Somewhere in Bruges, Bruce is twitching, and he doesn't know why,_ he thought a little bitterly.

"Well, you know Arkham, though, right?"

"…Arkham _Asylum_?" _Oh, this can't be good._

"Is there any other Arkham worth talking about?" he scoffed. "There was a breakout a few hours ago. Bunch a crazies got away. Not like it's the first time or anything, but still, you know…spooky." He shuddered, an unusual action to behold in a man of his build and attitude. "The cops ain't saying _who_ exactly, but everybody knows the Joker's got to be one of 'em. Figures, too, Batman just put him back there. He's always worst right after he gets out. It's like he's gotta blow off steam or something; no plan, just…well, you know how he is, they talk about him on those TV crime shows all the time. So there's a big manhunt going on right now, trying to get them all back where they belong, but in the meantime Gotham knows to lay low for a day or so after an Arkham escape. I'd be home myself, except…" he raised his basket again. "Sick kids'll drive a man to do crazy things," he shook his head.

"Yeah…" _If I'd just listened to the radio on the way in, I would have heard about this,_ he cursed himself. _Here I am, no costume, no way to __get__ a costume without going to Mount Justice, with the Joker and several other bad people on the loose. _He wasn't nearly as familiar with the villain as Gotham's resident vigilante was, but he'd heard and seen enough about him to know that he wasn't someone he could stand to let roam amongst innocent people any longer than absolutely necessary. _Bruce won't be back until late tonight at the earliest, and even then the last thing he needs to do is go after __that__ creep. It sounds like he just dealt with him not too long ago, and he's going to be exhausted. Even __with__ a costume, though, how can I leave Dick in order to deal with this? I guess I could take him to the mountain, leave him in medical with…whoever's there…change, and come back._ He didn't like it, but…_I don't have much of a choice. I can't leave him alone, and I can't ignore a loose psychopath._ A word echoed in his head. _Alone…he's alone right now. I should be with him, it's bad enough that he's being sick by himself, but-_

"Relax," the other man advised, seeing his head turn in the direction Dick had gone. "Joker's got the whole city to hide in. Why would he be in a grocery store bathroom? How would he even get _in_ there without someone seeing him?"

_…He has a point,_ he had to agree as he tried to listen to the back of the store. Between the regular noises of the people around him and scattered about the store, the muzak on the overhead speakers, and the hundred billion different surfaces deflecting sound waves between the registers and the bathrooms, he couldn't pick up anything specific. "…Yeah," he nodded finally, relaxing a little bit as the line finally moved forward. "I guess that's true." _This should only take another minute, and then I'll go get him. There are more places to hide in this city than Bruce has pennies,_ he calmed himself. _What are the odds that he's hiding __here__?_

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the awesome reviews you've sent thus far! Also, please don't hate me for the end to today's chapter. **


	11. Chapter 11

Walking down the long hall at the back of the store, Dick counted the floor tiles in an effort to distract himself from the maelstrom in his stomach. Reaching the bathroom, he pushed the door open with his shoulder, keeping his arms wrapped around his midsection. Inside, he slunk to the first stall without looking up from his feet. _I want to go home,_ he moaned silently. _Throwing up is bad enough there, but in a public place…uck. At least this early in the day it might be clean…_

He would be grateful for the rest of his life that he raised his head _before_ he stepped past the cubicle door. Discovering the disturbing rictus on the face of the man seated on the toilet, he froze. Dead, bulging eyes stared at him as he took in the cascade of blood that had fallen from the shattered forehead and crudely widened smile to coat the corpse's chest and potbelly before soaking into the pants around its ankles. _How sick __am__ I?_ he wondered, stumbling back in horror. _I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming, or hallucinating. This can't be real._

A hand covered his mouth from behind just as he collided with a pair of legs. He was about to bite down and make a break for the door when something cold caressed the skin below his jaw. "Ah-ah," came a warning. "Not a sound, pretty, or you'll end up looking like our erstwhile janitor here. You know that he cleaned that stall, _then_ sat down to take a shit? Seems like the kind of thing you'd get fired for. Do you think I should report him?"

_It feels like a knife, but…it's not very big. Box cutter, maybe. _His stomach was forgotten as he studied the hacked figure a few feet away. He'd seen thousands of forensics pictures in the hours he'd spent poring over Batman's criminal profiles, and studied more ugly scenes and nasty ends than he could count, but he didn't have to search his mind to place the expression that had been carved into the face before him. _Joker,_ he realized, biting his lower lip. _If this isn't a nightmare, I'm dead._

He was spun and thrust backwards against the wall, and without warning the man himself – the one person in Gotham, he knew, that Bruce, and possibly even Batman, truly feared him meeting – was on a level with him. _Breathe regularly,_ he tried to keep himself calm. _Think. Batman's not here to get you out of this._

"Pretty enough for a slasher flick," the creep oozed, tittering. When the boy didn't react, he broke off. "Fine. Too young to get that, maybe." Pressing down on the blade he'd taken from the dead janitor just hard enough to draw a thin weal of blood, he dragged it a couple of inches along his prisoner's throat. "And _brave,_" he crowed when the boy bore it. "Ooh, does mommy know how plucky her little prince is? I'll bet she's waiting outside for you, isn't she? Buying…oh, I don't know…what is she buying?"

Dick just stared at him. _If he moves the knife, I can try to get away, but I have to be careful about it. Nothing fancy, I can't give away Robin. And I'll have to be fast. He's not Ricky Van Cleave, he's not going to break his own hand for me._ He tried to remember how many steps he'd taken from the door, but couldn't; he'd been too focused on counting tiles, and he had no idea how many tiles equaled a step. _Don't look towards it, he'll know you're thinking about getting away._ The door opened inward, he recalled. _That's going to cost time…he's fast, his file said he's fast, I won't make it unless I manage to hurt him, or knock him over, or- _His thoughts cut off as fingers tangled in his hair and slammed his head back against the wall.

"Answer me, or I'll think you're just too scared to talk. Scared little boys don't interest me for any longer than it takes to turn them into scared little angels. And it's going to be pretty hard to hold that halo up, or a crown for that matter, little prince, if I cut your head off. Now isn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Is your mommy waiting outside?"

_Lie. _"Yes."

"I wonder if she'll come in to find you…I've never killed a woman in a men's room before. It would make a nice tableau, wouldn't it?" He hissed proudly as a thought occurred. "A consumerist Pieta…lovely young mother, pretty little son, both very, very dead in a bathroom…tell me," he leaned closer, clearly amused by his own sick design, "if I flood the sinks and position the pair of you just right, do you think it would come off as a fountain? I want it to come off as a fountain."

"…Sure." _Okay, so maybe he won't kill me until my 'mommy' comes in. Which is going to be a while, since the only person with me is…_ A grin nearly blossomed on his lips. _Is freaking Superman. Not in costume, but still…all I've got to do is stay alive until he comes looking for me. I can still try to escape, but…it's not worth it to provoke him unless I know I can get away. _

"Such a good little yes-man!" Both of the psycho's hands gripped his cheeks, pinching hard as the box cutter bobbed in one fist. "Yes you are!" he squeezed, jerking his face back and forth. The dead man's blood, Dick noted as the blade danced dangerously close to his left eye, still stained the metal. He gulped as the weapon brushed against his lashes. "Too close for comfort?" the Joker breathed into his face, his fingers twisting until bruises blossomed.

"How…how did you get in here?" he winced, the nerves beneath his eyes protesting their abuse vigorously. _Keep him talking. It works on other criminals, maybe it will work on him, too…_

The villain considered him. "You know, usually children at least _try_ to scream when I cause them pain. You're an odd one, but…fun." He jerked his head towards the wall above the end stall, directing his attention to the open window set just below the ceiling. "I had to hide from the police _somewhere, _didn't I? I didn't arrange an Arkham breakout for nothing, and it's hard to move around in the daytime when they've got helicopters all over the place. I think it's getting to the point now where a lot of them would just shoot me," he shook his head. "Takes all the fun out of things."

"You just got out a few days ago, though," he remembered. _I don't think it'll come off as strange that I know that, it was on the news. _"Why'd…why'd you get caught again?"

"I had to rally the troops. They needed time to plan my welcome back party. And there were some people still inside that I wanted to come. We're going to have a clown," he smirked. "Isn't that exciting?"

_Ugh… _"…So you only broke out the first time so you could plan your second escape?" he wrinkled his nose. "That's…why?"

"Because I like to fuck with people's heads, that's _why_," he crashed the child's skull into the wall again. Dick couldn't quite bite back the tiny gasp that escaped his lips as stars passed before his eyes. His knees weakened for a moment, but he caught himself as the hands moved to his chin and throat. "I wonder how much longer mommy will be. I'm getting bored…should you be dead, or just _almost _dead, when she comes for you?" One greasy finger touched the corner of his mouth and then drew over. "I like making pretty ones smile…don't worry, I'll take extracare when I do yours. I want it to be _perfect_."

He couldn't wait any more. If the knife would move off of his neck, just for a second, he could kick, lash out, contort his way to escape somehow. If he mistimed it, though, just a flick of the insane man's wrist – a twitch of his fingers, really – would send the blade to a lethal depth. _C'mon, Uncle Clark…_ Unbidden, his gaze flicked to the door.

Nausea flooded him as what little coherence had been in the Joker's eyes drained away. _Oh, no, he saw me look over. Don't throw up __now__, you'll only make him madder…or,_ he realized, _give yourself your one opportunity._ The villain pulled his arm back, preparing to swing his weapon with what would no doubt be deadly effect, and Dick released his already tenuous hold on his gorge.

The hand holding him to the wall loosened for the barest instant as the water he'd just reintroduced to the air struck its target. He wrenched free, ducked, and threw himself into a tumble, hearing the box cutter snap apart as it was jammed into the wall where he'd been standing a millisecond before. The deranged man behind him sputtered and clawed after him, fingers nearly catching the hem of his pants as he tore the door open. _Go left, this hall probably leads to a warehouse. Keep him away from the main store, if he goes out there he might take a hostage or just start killing anyone he can reach…there won't be as many people, maybe not anyone, in the warehouse. Evade him in there, then circle back around and find Clark. _It was Batman's voice in his head, not his own, and he obeyed it, turning away from the bright fluorescents and into the shadows.

"Dick!" The Kryptonian's dread had grown with every second he'd waited in line, unable to clearly hear what was going on at the other end of the building. As soon as he'd finished paying, he'd snatched up his bag and headed for the back, trying to keep his feet at a somewhat regular pace. _Don't bolt, they're sure to have security cameras. Even if no one's watching right now, the less frequently Clark Kent inexplicably disappears partway down a grocery aisle, the better._

"…_perfect,"_ he'd finally picked up as he approached the beginning of the hallway marked with a prominent sign reading 'restrooms.' _Shit, that was __not__ him,_ he had realized, turning in quickly. He was three steps away when he heard the now-familiar sound of vomiting. A moment later the door was flung open, and a small form ran out. He said his name sharply, and the boy slid to a halt, turning around to face him.

"Joker," was all he said, eyes wide and frightened but steady.

Clark saw the bruises on his cheeks and the light cut at his throat before the first syllable had finished forming. _Sorry, Bruce. I know it's your city, but I don't think I can keep my hands off. Not right now. Not like this._

The boy blinked when the man disappeared as if by magic. A single, hollow _thunk_ came from inside the bathroom immediately. He waited, trembling slightly as he watched the mouth of the hallway. _Stay away, everyone just stay away from here, he's not dressed as Superman, no one can see…no one can see him right now, like this, they'll know…I don't even know how we're going to explain it…this is bad…this is so bad…Bruce is gonna kill me, and probably Uncle Clark, too…craaaap…_

When nearly a full minute passed without any sound leaching out from the men's room, Dick gritted his teeth and slipped inside. _It's got to be safe, there's no way Joker could best __Superman__. He'd need kryptonite, and where would he get that, especially fresh out of Arkham? That was probably the dead guy's knife, even…_ Glancing around to make sure that it was, in fact, only himself and Clark conscious, he flipped the lock on the main door and turned around, pressing his back to it. "…Uncle Clark?" he whispered, his adrenaline draining.

The Kryptonian stood over a well-concussed Joker, fists balled. _He hid in a grocery store bathroom,_ he marveled angrily. _What was he going to do, just kill everyone who came in? A __grocery store__, and this one, of course, since it's the one we came to. I can't believe the demons that crawl this city,_ he shook his head. _If I knew what it would take to close whatever portal to hell spawns people like this, I'd do it in an instant. Gotham would probably be a crater afterwards, but…get the innocent out first, and it would be worth it._ Hearing his name, he turned to find the boy staring at him and closed the distance between them, shaking off his disgust in favor of concern. "Okay, pal," he knelt in front of him. "Okay. Did he hurt you?"

"I…not really. I mean…not like that other guy," he nodded towards the stall containing the destroyed janitor. "But…but he _wanted_ to," he murmured, his shivers increasing suddenly. "He…I…"

"Shh, it's okay now," he soothed. _God, how am I going to explain these bruises?_ he rued, reaching out to turn the child's head so he could examine the already-purple marks. "What did he do?"

"Just, like…pinching. And…" his hand rose to the short line of already-dried blood along his throat.

"Anything else?"

"He hit my head on the wall," he disclosed, suddenly feeling flushed and weak. "…Uncle Clark…?"

_Whoa,_ the man caught him as he fell. "Just relax, Dick," he said quietly as he repositioned him and stood up. "He can't do whatever he said he was going to. It's okay. It's over." _Straight to the mountain,_ he decided. _Have J'onn put him on an IV and check his head. Bruce is going to kill me…it wasn't my fault, but it's still Bruce._

Scooping up the bag he'd dropped in the midst of entering the room at super-speed, he unlocked the door and stole into the hallway. As he'd suspected, there were no true cameras in this back area, only false set-ups designed to keep the honest honest. _Who would have thought a ridiculous college journalism assignment could ever be useful in real life?_ he laughed bitterly, remembering how annoyed he'd been when the 'fake security systems' topic had been assigned to him. Spying the dead man's cleaning cart sitting just to the side of the door, he rifled through it. A quick search produced a magnetic 'closed for cleaning' sign, which he hung before yanking the trolley over and positioning it in front of the entrance to the toilets. _Hopefully that's all it will take to keep people out of there until I can call the police from somewhere a little more private and untraceable._

The child in his arms stirred slightly, moaning. _I don't dare try to run out of here. The car's right out in front, and once the police arrive, they'll run every plate for blocks. It's too risky to suddenly appear on the street…damn it. _He paused, realizing he'd been swearing a lot more than he usually did. _This city does something to people. It's like it was built on an evil waste dump or something…_ Pulling Dick's jacket hood up in an attempt to cover the darkening marks on his cheeks, he walked through the store, trying to look no more or less concerned than the few other shoppers he passed. _Made it,_ he sighed when they reached the car. He buckled his passenger in quickly, tucking him under the blanket again, and pulled out into the street, relief flooding him.

_Now, to just find a pay phone to call the police from, and then get you to Mount Justice…have to get you a mask first, or Bruce will figure out a way to kill me twice… _He checked him in the rear view mirror and found him still unconscious. _Just hang on, pal. I know that was scary, but…just hang on._

**Author's Note: Okay, so that was my first time writing Joker. Hopefully he was acceptably creepy. :D**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everyone who took the time to review yesterday. I heard from a quite a few of you lovely readers, and it was very much appreciated!**

Bruce reached over and slammed his fist down on the alarm clock. Something crunched under his hand, and even half-asleep he winced. _Just add it to the bill,_ he sighed. _It's not exactly the first time I've broken a hotel alarm. _Frowning, he checked his phone. _No call? He must still be sleeping…god, I wish he was here…even throwing up, at least we'd be together._

He had just swung his feet out of bed when there was a knock. Snagging a robe, he opened the door. "Your breakfast, sir," the young man outside informed him politely.

_Breakfast. Good. _He stepped back to allow him inside, watching silently as a stand was expertly unfolded and the covered tray set on top of it. Handing the server a coin he'd laid two hours earlier for this very purpose, he followed him to the door and refastened the chain. _…Eat first, or shower?_ he mused for a moment. _Eat. Dick might call soon, and it will be easier to answer the phone if my hands are dry._

Mindful of the time, he ate quickly, his phone within arm's reach. It didn't so much as favor him with a text, however. _Maybe I should call…no, Clark said he'd have him call when he woke up. I don't want to be responsible for waking him. If he's sleeping, it's because he needs it._ At nine fifteen, he knew he couldn't wait any longer; if he was going to bathe, he had to start now. Carefully setting the mobile where he could reach it from the shower, he hopped under the hottest water the pipes could manage, mumbling discontentedly.

It was a far less enjoyable shower than it might have been had he had more time and not been tensed to leap for his cell. By the time he stepped out, his face was stormy. _Okay, acting time,_ he coached himself as he combed his hair. _No matter how much you miss him, you can't glare at the meeting unless they try and make big, last-minute changes to the terms of the agreement. So put on a different look._ It took more concentration than usual, but his expression dropped into a small, pleasant smile, his eyes distant but hawkish. _…That's better. What would Dick call this? 'Business face?' 'Meeting face?' Something like that. But it would be cuter when he said it…god damn it…_

He had just finished knotting his tie when the phone rang. He snatched it up, a hopeful gleam overriding the mien he'd carefully put on just a few minutes earlier, only to realize that it was the room phone going off, not his cell. _Of course._ "Yes?" he answered the correct line, exasperation clear in his tone.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," responded the voice of the driver from a few hours before. "If you don't mind, it takes approximately twenty minutes to reach our destination. We should depart as soon as possible."

"I'll be right down," he replied, hanging up. Shrugging into his coat and grabbing his briefcase, he dropped his phone into his pocket – _Alfred would cringe if he saw me putting a phone in a pair of Armani pants,_ he knew, _but Dick could still call while I'm in the car, and I want it close at hand – _and departed.

All of his fervent wishing did no good; the entire ride passed silently. As they pulled up to the curb in front of a brick behemoth, Bruce had no choice but to pull his mobile back out and slowly, regretfully, hold down the power button until the screen went blank. He thought about merely putting it on silent, but discarded the idea when he decided that if he left it on he'd be checking it every two minutes to see if he had a missed call. This way, maybe he could at least focus on the reason he'd been forced to leave his son in the first place.

The man who had handled most of the negotiations for the banking firm met him on the sidewalk. "Mr. Wayne," he greeted with a broad smile. "Welcome to Bruges."

"Thanks," he said distractedly.

"We'll go right to the conference room, unless there was something you needed first?"

"Hmm? No, that's fine," he answered. _Durant,_ he recalled, studying him briefly. _His name is Durant._

"I was sorry to hear about Mr. Fox's accident. I hope he will recover quickly."

"It was inconvenient timing, but I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Ah…Yes. Of course."

_Well, that sounded incredibly callous,_ he berated himself as they crossed the lobby and stepped into an elevator. _Snap out of it. Dick's with Clark, and…well, Clark won't let anything happen to him,_ he admitted. _In a way, he was sort of a good person to leave him with. I guess. Sort of. Maybe._

It took almost ten minutes just for him to be introduced to everyone who was waiting in the board room. He was then informed that due to the change in signers for Wayne Enterprises there might be slight delays, as they were having to correct the signature pages for every section of the contract and it was taking a little longer than they had anticipated. _My god, how long is this agreement? _he wondered. He'd reviewed it, of course, but that had been weeks ago, and with all the other documents that ran through his hands on a daily basis he honestly couldn't remember which brick of paperwork had been related to this deal.

Finally the presentation began, Durant standing at the head of the table and droning through explanations of intent and recourse. Bruce was seated across the table from the president of the banking company, and he just knew from the Alfredesque gleam in his eye that the older man could tell he was only half paying attention. He struggled to focus on the legal jargon, but his mind kept slipping off topic. _He probably called right after I turned the damn thing off,_ he grimaced.

"…Mr. Wayne? Is there a problem with that clause?" Durant stopped.

"I'm sorry? Oh." _Shit. Good job. _"No, not at all. Please, continue. It's fine."

"…Very well. Furthermore, all transactions…"

_Christ. Pay __attention__._ The mild embarrassment of being called out for his expression held him to the topic at hand for a few minutes. _…I hope he's drinking enough. He needs to eat something; if he comes in underweight again…he's __not__ underweight, not really, but that's what happens when you try to make every single child fit an 'average' number… _

After two and a half hours of talking and reading, a few last-minute amendments were agreed upon and the changes were sent up to be made so that the signing copy could be printed. As soon as the break was announced, Bruce reached for his pocket, eager to check his phone. _I should have time to call him back and talk for at least a minute or two…_

There it was; 10:02, Bruges time, a call received from Clark's cell. _Two minutes. Two fucking minutes,_ he cursed inwardly. While the others were occupied in refilling their coffee, he slipped out into the quiet hallway and walked to the window that looked out over the square.

"Hi, Bruce," the message started softly. _Oh, Dicky, I know you were trying to hide it, but I can still hear how upset you are that I didn't answer. _Two words had been spoken, and the billionaire already had tears in his eyes. "…Clark said I could call and talk to you…and…well, I miss you…and I hope you get to come home soon…" _Me too, chum,_ he thought desperately. "…So…yeah. Have a good meeting, and…don't worry, I'm okay. Clark's doing a good job." _He'd __better__ be doing a good job._ "Maybe I can talk to you later? When you're not busy, I mean." _I'm never too busy for you, kiddo, except…except when I am. _He could have put his fist through the glass in self-loathing, but restrained himself, albeit only with a Herculean output of effort. "…Yeah. Okay, I'm…I'm gonna go now." _Don't go. Just talk to me._ "I love you…" _Oh, that did it. Dick…I…oh, total hell. _"Bye."

_You are getting a call right now,_ he swore, wiping his eyes clear as he closed out his voicemail and pulled up Clark's number. He hated the longing and sadness he'd heard in every syllable of the boy's message, but a perverse part of him loved it, too. _He misses me. Even with Clark there, he…he misses __me__._

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?"

His finger jerked to a stop over the call button. _Don't be an ass, Bruce. They don't know what's going on, and they don't need to know. _Clearing his throat, he turned to find his Belgian counterpart standing nearby. "Mr. Schulte," he nodded.

"I just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate your coming on such short notice after Mr. Fox's accident. Our company is very eager to get this deal settled and begin working on your European accounts, and I believe that this will turn out to be a good match. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience for you, coming to see us on such short notice?"

"…No," he gritted his teeth. "Not at all."

"…And yet something has upset you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You seem a little…there's a phrase for it…misty-eyed? This is a good day for both of our companies, but I don't know that it's worth crying over," he joked lightly. "…We may both be rich men, Mr. Wayne, but we are still men, with problems just like any other. Please don't take me as too forward, but…is there something I can do to make this unexpected trip less of an aggravation for you?"

"Making it shorter would help," Bruce answered frankly, sensing nothing but honesty in the other man's offer.

"I wish there was some way we could wrap it all up before Monday," he replied. "But the government paperwork won't be ready for us to sign until then."

"…I'm sorry, did you just say _Monday_?" Bruce spluttered. _No. __No__. I am __not__ staying an extra three days!_

"You were not informed?" Schulte looked mildly upset. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize…yes, today's meeting is just our private contract. You were expecting to go home tonight, then?"

"Yes. Yes, I was," he took a deep breath. _Goddamn it. God fucking damn it._ "There's _no way_ around this? We can't expedite it, or…or fax the paperwork to the US? Or _something_?" He wasn't sure if he felt more like crying or beating something up.

"They require time to review our private contract after it has been signed, and then there are documents that must be signed in front of one of the government notaries. They are very particular about that. Durant," he called out as the man in question exited the conference room. "A moment, please."

"Mr. Schulte, Mr. Wayne," he greeted, joining them.

"Durant, Mr. Wayne has just informed me that his company was unaware that the proceedings would last through the weekend. Is this true?"

"…I'm certain I asked my secretary to inform Mr. Fox's secretary," he said, puzzled. "The message must have been lost somewhere along the way. I do apologize, but we have taken care to ensure that your weekend in Bruges will not be a boring one. I will be sure to get you a copy of tomorrow's itinerary; we've arranged several tours for your amusement, and then there's a museum reception tomorrow evening-"

"Cancel that," Schulte cut him off. "…Mr. Wayne, I am terribly sorry about this confusion. Please, allow me to apologize profusely on behalf of my company. As a peace offering, would you be willing to join me at my home for supper tomorrow evening? I have a new Argentinian chef who has procured some fine steaks from his homeland, and I would be honored if you would help me to judge them. I have heard that you are something of a connoisseur when it comes to good beef."

"I…" _I want to go home to my son, not be wined and dined by a company we've already agreed to work with,_ he groused. His first thought upon hearing that he was expected to sign more documents on Monday had been to fly to Gotham tonight, as planned, and then just come back on Sunday evening. It would have been exhausting, but it would also have given him at least a full day to spend with the boy. Now, though, with the bankers having made special plans just to keep him occupied and the company president inviting him to dinner…he could imagine the looks he'd get from both Lucius and Alfred if he neglected what they would both see as essential duties, Lucius thinking of Wayne Enterprises, Alfred of Bruce's civilian mask.

And they were both right, but…_Dick shouldn't have to suffer because someone else screwed up. I told him I'd be back in two days, not next week!_ Still, Dick would forgive him, he knew, and would probably even understand the predicament once he was feeling better. There was no reason to think that this new business relationship could weather such a blow this early in its life, though, especially since the bankers' offerings could now be couched as apologies. _Lucius is burning so much credit right now,_ he thought. _I'm not going out of town for six months, at least, after this, no matter what comes up._ "I'd be happy to join you for dinner, Mr. Schulte," he agreed slowly.

"I'm pleased to hear that you aren't holding our mistake against us," the bank president smiled. "Thank you for your graciousness, Mr. Wayne. Now, I believe it is about time to reconvene, isn't it?"

_Jesus, really?_ Bruce lamented. _No. I'm already staying for the weekend, this can wait a few minutes. _"I'm sorry, would you allow me just one minute? I have an important phone call to make before we continue."

"Of course," he nodded understandingly. "Come, Durant, I'd like some coffee before the next session."

When they were gone, he stared down at his phone. _How do I break this news to him? 'Hey kiddo, sorry, I lied and have to stay more than twice as long as I told you I did?' I promised him we'd spend all day Sunday together…so much for that._ But there was nothing for it, not now that he'd already agreed, and had there been another option before that he would have taken it. Digging his nails into his palm until he nearly bled, he called Clark's cell.

"…Bruce?" He sounded hesitant, and the billionaire frowned.

"Yeah. Let me talk to Dick, okay?"

"Um…he's asleep again."

"Well…" _Shit, I don't want him to hear this from anyone but me. He deserves an explanation straight from the jackass who's breaking his promise. _"Wake him up. I need to talk to him."

"…I can't wake him up right now. I'm driving, and he's passed out in the back seat. And he's _out_ out."

"You're driving?" _Why the hell are you driving? He should be in bed!_

"We went to the store for some things. Pedialyte, more popsicles, things like that."

"…Oh." _I guess that's about the only good reason there is for taking him out of the house._ "Is he keeping anything down?"

"Popsicles. We tried some water at the store, and he lost it in the bathroom."

"In a _public_ bathroom?" He flinched. _Poor baby…_

"I didn't know there was anything wrong with it, Bruce, I'm sorry!"

_Uh…okay. That was a little bit guiltier than I would have expected._ "…Clark, what's going on?" he asked, a little suspicious.

"…Look, Bruce, he's pretty dehydrated, I think. I can't get in touch with your doctor, and Alfred said something about tricky veins, so…I'm taking him to get an IV."

…_That would explain why he sounds a little off. It's not like he's ever dealt with something like this before, at least not to my knowledge. _"Taking him to a hospital, or…?"

"Or. I just don't want to take any chances."

"I…appreciate that."

"Seriously?" Clark sounded mildly surprised.

"_Yes_. He's _my_ son, after all. Just accept the damn appreciation, would you?" He took a deep breath. "Look, I'll call when this meeting's over. Don't tell him what I'm about to tell you, because I want to explain it to him, but…I have to stay here until Monday."

"What happened?" To Bruce's relief, the question wasn't accusatory.

"Apparently there are other documents I have to sign in front of particular people, and they won't be ready until then. That fact apparently got lost along the way; our end didn't know. I'd come home over the weekend, but they went through a lot of trouble to arrange for me to attend all of these events, and…suffice it to say it wouldn't be a good start to an important business relationship if I hopped a jet instead."

"…He's going to be disappointed, you know."

"I'm well aware of that, thanks," he snarked. _Not helpful,_ he snarled internally.

"You're not happy about it, either."

"Of course I'm not. I hate it. It's cruel, and I'm breaking a promise I made to him."

"But you have no choice." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

_He's doing that understanding nod thing right now, I just know it._ "…I wish I did, Clark. You have no idea how much I wish that I did."

"Yeah. I know I don't. And I know you do. But…listen, he'll be okay. He might only be a kid, but he's one of the toughest people I've ever met. And I'm not going anywhere until either you or Alfred is back, so…he'll have someone he knows around, at least."

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass. _I want to be mad at you still,_ he thought, _but I'm having a really hard time feeling that way right now. You're spending vacation time watching my sick kid so I can attend special tours and expensive private dinners, all in the name of better business relations. Why am I starting to feel like __I'm__ the problem? Damn Alfred and his making me think about things…but then I called him to start with, so again, I'm the problem. Delightful._

"…Bruce? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he responded quietly. "…Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Ah…" _Thank you. _"I'll call later."

He thought he heard a tiny, knowing chuckle. "Sure, Bruce. Talk to you then."

The call ended, and he stood for a moment, staring at his phone. _I feel better, for some reason. I'm still a little jealous, and I'm sure it will be worse when I see them in the same room together, but…it seems more controllable than it did before. I'm more upset with __myself__ than I am with Clark._ With a small huff, he straightened and tapped out a quick text.

_Alfred – I'm stuck in Bruges until Monday. Business. Call Clark when you get a chance for an update on Dick._ He paused. _…Our talk earlier helped. A lot, I think._ He hit send just as someone leaned out of the conference room and inquired as to his readiness to continue.

"…Yeah," he tucked his phone away. "Let's get started." _The sooner we're done, the sooner I can call my boy again. And that's more than enough impetus for me._


	13. Chapter 13

Through some strange miracle – _I didn't know they had miracles in Gotham,_ Clark thought darkly – he spotted a phone booth three blocks from the store. After glancing around and seeing no cameras that might catch him in the act of making the call, he stepped into it and dialed 911, keeping his eyes on the unconscious figure in the backseat of the car the entire time. "Yes, police? 139th and Van Buren. You'll find a dead man in the store bathroom. The Joker did it. Send extra men, he's still in there."

He felt a twinge of guilt as he hung up without answering any questions, but that was more than enough information to guide them to the villain. The 'extra men' advice had been unnecessary - he'd pulled his punch, but there had still been a bit of a crunch when his fist connected – but there was no reason to make exactly how much he knew obvious. It wouldn't take them long to discover that it was going to be awhile before the psychopath was awake, let alone capable of being a threat to anyone with the sense not to get within arm's reach of him. _He couldn't have seen me coming. No one can place us there, not unless they hunt down and talk to the guy I spoke with in line. With Joker in custody, I'm hoping they'll focus on being glad he's behind bars instead of on who made that possible._

They were halfway back to the manor when his phone rang. _Oh, god, you're calling __now__?_ "…Bruce?" he questioned, hoping his caller ID was wrong.

"Yeah. Let me talk to Dick, okay?"

"Um…he's asleep again." _Please don't ask why. I'm hoping it's dehydration, and not a concussion, but I really don't want to tell you that…_

"Well…Wake him up. I need to talk to him."

_Ahh, not happening. _"…I can't wake him up right now. I'm driving, and he's passed out in the back seat," he explained. "And he's _out_ out." _Say it's the medicine, if he asks. That stuff __has__ been putting his lights out pretty well, it wouldn't really be a lie._

"You're _driving_?"

"We went to the store for some things," he explained quickly. "Pedialyte, more popsicles, things like that."

"…Oh." The ire from the other end of the line had faded noticeably. "Is he keeping anything down?"

"Popsicles. We tried some water at the store, and he lost it in the bathroom."

"In a _public_ bathroom?" The billionaire's cringe was audible.

Guilt assailed him suddenly. "I didn't know there was anything wrong with it, Bruce, I'm sorry!" _Please don't pick up on that. Not now. You need to hear about this in person, preferably somewhere very far away from any kryptonite. It wasn't my fault, I swear…_

"…Clark, what's going on?" He didn't quite sound suspicious, but he was clearly getting there.

_Something. Anything. Tell him anything but about the Joker. _"…Look, Bruce, he's pretty dehydrated, I think. I can't get in touch with your doctor, and Alfred said something about tricky veins, so…I'm taking him to get an IV."

"Taking him to a hospital, or…?"

"Or. I just don't want to take any chances."

"I…appreciate that."

He started slightly. "Seriously?" _I think you might even __mean__ it._

"_Yes_. He's _my_ son, after all. Just accept the damn appreciation, would you?" There was a pause. "Look, I'll call when this meeting's over. Don't tell him what I'm about to tell you, because I want to explain it to him, but…I have to stay here until Monday."

"What happened?" he asked gently. _Oh, Dick's going to be so upset. Assuming he wakes up before Monday, that is,_ he glanced in the rearview nervously. As Bruce gave him the details, he shook his head. _It doesn't sound like there are options, but... _ "He's going to be disappointed, you know."

"I'm well aware of that, thanks," was snapped back.

"…You're not happy about it, either," he noted, able to hear the strain in the other man's voice.

"Of course I'm not. I hate it. It's cruel, and I'm breaking a promise I made to him."

"But you have no choice," he nodded.

"…I wish I did, Clark. You have no idea how much I wish that I did." The words were spoken in a pained whisper.

"Yeah," he said soothingly. "I know I don't. And I know you do. But…" _Reassure him,_ he advised himself, "…listen, he'll be okay. He might only be a kid, but he's one of the toughest people I've ever met." It wasn't a lie. "And I'm not going anywhere until either you or Alfred is back, so…he'll have someone he knows around, at least." _Uncle Clark has no problem with being on duty a few extra days. I just wish it was a situation that wasn't making you both so miserable._ _It would be nice if he was healthy before the end of it, too. _The silence drew out, and he began to wonder if the other man had pulled one of his annoying abrupt hang-ups. "…Bruce? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," came back. "…Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Ah…I'll call later."

He chuckled as he picked up on the gratitude his friend couldn't quite manage to express. "Sure, Bruce," he said warmly. "Talk to you then." _I'm sorry. Don't hate me when this is over with; not when you're finally starting to act like yourself again with me. Please. It really wasn't my fault, and I would have done anything to keep it from happening… _

The car pulled up in front of the manor shortly after the call ended. Scooping the boy out of the back seat, he went straight down to the cave and to the corner where Batman and Robin's costumes were kept. "Mask, mask, mask," he fretted, searching. Spotting one alongside a half-empty bottle of spirit gum, he grabbed both items and carried them to the nearest exam table, where he laid his patient down and applied the disguise. "You're going to have to go in your pajamas, pal, but I think it'll be okay given the circumstances," he spoke softly, lifting him once more and heading for the Zeta tube. _And if Bruce is going to kill me for something at this point, you being in civilian clothes and a mask at the mountain is nowhere near the best reason he'll have,_ he grimaced, tucking his glasses away in his shirt pocket as he entered Mount Justice's coordinates.

"J'onn!" he called out a few moments later, catching a glimpse of the Martian as he passed the transport room. "I hope you aren't in the middle of anything, because I need your help."

"…Is that Robin?" the Martian asked for verification as Clark walked towards him. "What's happened?"

"Long story short, he's got the flu, Batman's out of town, and we just had a run in with…ah…" _Maybe I shouldn't tell anyone else before Bruce knows._ "…Well, with someone I really would have preferred we _didn't_ have a run in with. I think he's pretty dehydrated, he was acting strangely even before that…freak…got his hands on him."

"You aren't in costume," was observed as they walked swiftly down the hall towards medical.

"We were out as civilians, getting flu supplies. Which I left in the car," he realized out loud. "Well, that was smart."

"I'm certain we have viable substitutes here. Lay him down, please," he waved him into the first room they came to. He checked the child's vitals, then nodded. "I agree with you that he's dehydrated," he stated. "There are IV kits and saline behind you. If you would hand me one of each…?"

"Sure," he turned quickly. "Here."

"…Has he been unconscious since your encounter?"

"He was awake right afterwards, and then he passed out. He's under a lot of stress right now. Batman's out of town, and had to go unexpectedly; he's been sick since yesterday morning, and throwing up a lot; and then he got roughed up by a pretty unpleasant character, and couldn't really do much about it because he was in civilian clothes."

"You said 'roughed up;' was he able to give you specifics about what was done to him? I'd like to know where to start."

"They weren't alone very long, but…he did say his head was slammed into the wall. Other than that, some pinching – I'm guessing that's what caused the bruises on his face – and that mark on his neck. That's all he mentioned."

"Ah. Well, a head injury _would_ knock him out, potentially," J'onn stated, carefully slipping his hands around to the back of the boy's skull. "…There _is_ a lump there, but I don't think it's anything serious. I'll put him on the saline, and if the problem is dehydration that should help him wake up in the next couple of hours. If he doesn'trevive by then, we'll start treating his unconsciousness as a concussion symptom. But I don't believe that it will come to that; his surface thoughts are normal, if somewhat feverish and unhappy." He paused. "…Have you informed Batman that he was attacked?"

"No. I thought it would be better for Robin to do that. That way I can stand at a distance and have time to fly away if need be," he only half-joked.

"…Was this someone Robin would not usually have encountered in the course of his duties?" the Martian queried as he prepared to insert the needle.

"…He hasn't outright told me as much, but from what little I know I think Batman's been trying to keep him as far from this particular person as possible. I certainly couldn't blame him if that's the case, especially not after what I saw a little while ago."

"I see," J'onn nodded seriously. "Well. Hopefully the boy will recover quickly. Will Batman be back soon?"

"He'll be back on Monday."

"It was kind of you to watch Robin for such a long period," he commented passingly.

"I don't mind," Clark shrugged, pulling blankets out of a cupboard and beginning to cover the child.

"…No, I sensed as much." They were silent for a short while as the Martian cleaned the shallow cut on his patient's neck. "I think I have something that will help the facial bruising dissolve faster," he broke the quiet. "I'll be back shortly. I assume you're staying with him?"

"Yeah." _I'd like to change, to be honest – it's weird being here in civvies – but I don't want him waking up alone, especially after a Joker encounter. His __first__ Joker encounter,_ he added, mouth tightening.

"…Ooh, J'onn wasn't exaggerating," Wonder Woman opined from the doorway a few minutes later. "That looks _awful._ What happened?" she asked, going straight to the bed and brushing the boy's hair back.

"A creepy bastard got his hands on him for a couple of minutes."

Her eyebrows went up at the expletive. "You're upset."

"Wouldn't you be, if Batman asked you to babysit and Robin was hurt on your watch?"

"Yes, of course. But I think you're being too hard on yourself. I'm sure you did everything you could. I know you care for him." She smiled. "Although it's hard _not_ to instantly adore him, with this face…" She sat down on the edge of the thin hospital mattress, her hand encasing small, chilly fingers, and gave her friend a hard look. "So…he asked you to babysit?"

"Yeah, and after what happened, it will probably be the last time he ever lets me see him," he sighed back.

"…Or maybe he'll just be grateful that you were there when it really counted. Robin isn't seriously injured, which it sounds like he may have been had he been with someone less able to defend him."

"I don't know," Clark shook his head. "He'd escaped by the time I got to him, and was running away from…the guy."

"Had he?" She grinned. "I knew he was good, especially after what you told me happened back in December with him and Kid Flash, but to get away from a criminal as a civilian, without giving away your mask…that's a bit more of a feat, in some ways."

"And he's sick, on top of it. He's had a flu bug since yesterday morning."

She shook her head. "Sick, and Daddy Bat away, and then a scary criminal encounter while he wasn't Robin…what a little trooper."

"…'Daddy Bat'?"

"You don't think it works? I think it works." She'd all but squealed when Superman had told her about Robin's use of a certain five-letter word to convince Batman to get scanned while he and Flash were under Daniel Sawyer's mind-control serum. "…Is that whole…thing…any better lately?" she asked. She was aware of the tension that had existed between Batman and Superman over the past half-year or so, and was been keeping a weather eye on it, prepared to step in if their friendship began to truly unravel. _The world cannot afford for them to be at odds with one another and unable to cooperate on the battlefield, _she had thought numerous times recently.

"It seems to have improved a lot in just the last few hours, actually," he admitted. "He was more or less normal on the phone a little while ago."

"Good," she applauded firmly. "I'm so glad to hear that."

"I just hope it lasts."

"Well…you know I'll do what I can to help on that front."

"I know. But it's still nerve-wracking, not knowing how he'll react to all of this."

"I think somewhere deep down he knows that you're going to be an important influence for Robin," she comforted. "And a good ally for the boy to have, besides. That will play into his decision." She rose and came around the bed to touch his shoulder lightly. "He's a hard person, partly by necessity and partly just by character," she stated. "But since Robin's been around, I've become aware of emotions in Batman that I never would have believed him capable of. If Robin wants to see you, and wants you as a part of his life, it won't be long before he wears him down. Trust in that, Superman, and weather the storm." Pulling away, she gently squeezed one of the boy's feet through the covers Clark had piled on him. "And _you_ feel better, cutey," she ordered before striding out of the room.

_All confidence, that woman,_ the Kryptonian shook his head as she left. _I wish I had even half of her certainty that Bruce won't hold this against me for the rest of our lives._

J'onn returned just as Clark was beginning to pace. "This salve should help break down the blood trapped under his skin," he set a small container of yellow goo down on the bedside counter. "Reapply it every thirty minutes. It won't make the marks go away completely before Batman returns on Monday, but they will be far less noticeable." He hesitated. "…I can stay with him for a moment, if you'd like to change."

"…That would be really nice," Clark sighed. "Thanks." He disappeared immediately.

_Well, Robin,_ the Martian thought as he started the first application of his bruise solution. _You certainly have a strange power to get people worked up. I've yet to encounter anyone who has met you who carries something other than warm feelings for you. It's almost like glamoury, and that's a very powerful skill. I hope you use it well._ He mused for a moment. _But perhaps my worry is unfounded; after all, you've already proven that you prefer to apply your abilities to achieve positive ends. If you require an example of how you've done so far, you need look no further than your own mentor. The changes, the revelations, that I've sensed in him over recent months…well. With the softening of Batman on your resume, I, for one, can only imagine great things in your future._ Finished treating the dark stains on the boy's face and picking up on Superman's approach, he rose and stepped away from the bed. _Sleep well, young one. You've earned that much, at the very least._

**Author's Note: When J'onn mentions Dick having a talent for glamoury, he is referring specifically to the ability to make all sorts of different people feel at ease and comfortable through skillful imitation of their body language, voice cadence, etc. **


	14. Chapter 14

The already bloodied blade touched the corner of his mouth, and he flinched slightly. _How does he expect me to not scream if he starts cutting?_ Dick wondered wildly. _I would think that would be a pretty obvious side effect…_ A thumb dug roughly into his throat, cutting off his air as the cold metal caressed his lips. _Oh,_ he choked. _That's__ how._

It had gone wrong, all wrong; he'd thrown up on the criminal, and tried to bolt, but his speed hadn't been quite up to par. _And there's no do-overs, not with the Joker,_ he'd realized as his head had been slammed into the wall for a third time. Everything had been black for a second, and he'd come back to feel the box cutter tripping along the lower half of his face, pausing from time to time as if the wielder couldn't quite decide where to begin. _And now I can't even scream for help, because I can't breathe…and Uncle Clark's probably still in line behind that stupid coupon lady…I'm dead, I'm so dead, and he's going to make it slow now because I was sick on him…Bruce…do something…save me…_

But he couldn't; he was in Bruges, completely unaware that the psychopath he'd put away a mere thirty six hours earlier was once again loose and terrorizing Gotham. Dick closed his eyes tightly, trying to think as his lungs cried out for air. The knife moved up and brushed his lashes, a threat clear in the motion.

"Open your eyes. I want to see the light leave them," he was ordered. "…Open them, or I cut them out!"

He obeyed. There were spots in his vision now, an effect, he assumed, of the lack of oxygen reaching his brain. What he was seeing, however, suddenly meant nothing as the left side of his face was ripped open. His entire body bucked and yawed beneath his captor; he tried to shriek, but managed only a few faint whistling noises as his tongue explored the new gash where his cheek had once been solid. _Stop. Please stop. Please. __Please._Then the slicing was repeated on the other side, and even his mental pleas ceased under the pressure of blinding agony.

A hand clamped over his mouth as the one on his throat loosened just enough for him to draw two deep, needy breaths. He clawed at the arm as it pressed back down below his chin, but the man whose blood his fingernails drew didn't seem to notice, too busy admiring his handiwork. There was no strength left in him; the brief respite from suffocation he'd been granted had only prolonged his death, not given him a chance to escape it. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to be found with the same expression as the janitor. There was a displeased hiss from somewhere overhead, and the tip of the knife traced the curve above one already sunken orb, severing thin skin and tiny muscles as it went. The same burn repeated itself on the opposite side of his nose, and then he no longer had the option to not see, because his eyelids had been stripped away. It didn't matter; the world was already blackening at the edges, the rest of it tinting red with blood. His only consolation was that maybe, just maybe, there would be enough in the way that the Joker wouldn't get his wish of 'seeing the light leave' his eyes.

To his surprise, the darkness and pain lifted suddenly. Everything was white and chrome, then familiar as Clark's face hovered before him. _…Did he come in right then or something and save me? Can you even reattach eyelids? But I'm blinking…I dunno…what…_ "…Where?" he managed.

"Mount Justice," he answered. "You've been out for a couple of hours, pal. You were pretty dehydrated, and probably a little stressed out. Martian Manhunter put you on some saline." His worry began to recede now that the boy had stopped the twitching and vague moaning he'd been doing before he woke. _It must have just been a bad dream,_ he decided. _I shouldn't be surprised he had one, considering everything._ "Feeling better?"

"I…dehydrated? But…the Joker…" Tears pricked his eyes, but he reined them in through his fading fear. _It wasn't real. It's okay. Just…don't close your eyes again._

Clark nodded. "Yeah. I know. But he's in jail by now. Remember? You escaped, and I knocked him out?"

"Oh…right." It all came rushing back; he _had _gotten away, after all. It had been a nightmare, not a memory. _I really, really wish Bruce was here right now,_ he moaned silently. _That was really scary. I want to talk about it, and I know Uncle Clark would listen, but…he wouldn't really understand. Not about the Joker. _"…My head hurts," he admitted finally.

"Well, he gave you a couple of pretty good knocks against the wall. J'onn said you don't have a concussion, though. It'll go away." _Thank god you woke up, there was no way I was going to be able to explain to Bruce if you'd been put into a coma or something,_ he sighed to himself. "What about your stomach? Do you feel like you need to throw up?" _Please say no._

"Ummm…" There was a long pause. "Actually, my stomach feels a _lot_ better."

"Good," a hand squeezed his arm. "I'm glad to hear that. Maybe in a little while you can try some crackers."

"Okay." He yawned.

"Still sleepy?"

"Kind of. But…" _I'm not going back to sleep right now. Not after that. _His eyes narrowed as he took in the man standing beside him properly. "You changed into your suit?"

"I'm not used to being here in civilian clothes," Superman explained.

_Oh, crap, he said we're at Mount Justice!_ His hand flew to his face and, much to his relief, found his mask in place. Before letting his arm drop back to his side, he felt one cheek, too; it was sore – _that's where he pinched me,_ he recalled - but not torn open. "Thanks for putting this on me," he said gratefully. "Batman would have been really, really upset otherwise."

"He's already going to be upset. I didn't see any point in making it worse."

"You didn't tell him about the Joker yet, did you?" he guessed.

"There's a large part of me that doesn't want to _ever_ tell him about what happened this morning. But I know that's not an option."

"…You know," the boy mused, "it actually might not be such a bad thing that it happened this way."

"…What?"

"Well…he's been really freaked out about my running into the Joker. He told me a few months ago that he didn't want me meeting him, or a bunch of other really bad guys, until it was 'absolutely unavoidable.' He said he wanted to make sure I was as ready as possible before it finally happened. But…" Getting into his explanation, he tried to sit. Superman held him down easily, then tilted the head of the bed up to support him. "Thanks. Now, though, I _have_ met the Joker, right? And I escaped him. I mean, he might have caught me again in the warehouse, if I'd gotten that far before you showed up, but at least I got away from him. More importantly, I was a _civilian_ when it happened. So, he might still not have any idea that Robin even exists, but _I_ know that I've survived him, even without any of Robin's tools or tricks. That's worth something, isn't it? I have the advantage of knowledge and experience now." Realizing that Superman was all but gaping at him, his previously pleased expression toned down. "…What? Is that…is that not right?"

The Kryptonian just shook his head. "Robin…no, you're completely right." _How do you see through the darkness so clearly?_ _I was wrapped up in the fact that he got his hands on you at all, and in how Bruce would react to the news, but you just cut right to the silver lining. _"…I don't suppose you want to be the one who tells Batman about all of this?" he asked hopefully.

"I think I _have_ to be the one. It's the only way he might not completely flip out. He's still going to be upset, though. And I don't want to tell him over the phone," he added quickly. "I think he should hear it in person. And it's only until tonight, anyway, so…" His face brightened as he remembered that his mentor would be at his side again in less than a day. "Did he call back?"

"He did," Superman nodded. _With news you're going to hate,_ he didn't reveal. It had been hard not to wince at the boy's obvious excitement about his guardian's imminent return, but Bruce had asked him to keep it secret for a reason. "You were unconscious, so I told him you were asleep. He said he'll call again as soon as his meetings are over."

"Oh." His mouth turned down in disappointment for a second, and then flattened into resignation. _At least it will probably only be a couple more hours before I can talk to him,_ he told himself. "If I fall asleep again, will you promise to wake me up when he does?" he requested.

"Sure I will. Are you going to try and sleep some more right now?"

"…I don't really want to. I…I had a bad dream," he confessed, looking away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the man asked gently.

"Umm…not really. No offense," he apologized. "It's just…"

"A Batman thing?" he smiled down at him.

"Yeah," the boy breathed, relaxing when he saw that the Kryptonian wasn't hurt by his refusal to discuss the nightmare with him. "A Batman thing." _A Bruce thing, actually, but I can't say that here,_ he amended in his head. He didn't figure it was necessary to clarify, though, at least not with Superman; after all, he'd been putting up with his partner's dark dichotomy for almost as long as Dick had been alive.

"Well, we could talk about something else, or-" he cut off as his phone rang. "Or I could answer that." He glanced at the caller ID, then handed it to Robin. "It's for you."

_Alfred!_ he exclaimed internally when he recognized the number. "Hi!" he squeaked.

"Well, young sir, you certainly sound as if you're feeling better," an approving tone reached his ear.

"Yeah. I guess I got dehydrated, and now I'm on an IV," he explained. "But I _do_ feel better. My stomach isn't nearly as bad as it was. I might have some crackers soon."

"An IV, hmm? Are you at home, or…elsewhere?"

"We're not at home," he couched carefully.

"I see. Have all of the proper precautions been taken?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. I just have a headache, but it's supposed to go away."

"And have you spoken to Master Wayne?"

"Huh-uh. I left him a message, but every time he's called I've been asleep," he pouted. "…He'll be back soon, though, and he said he'll call after his, uh, meeting." His nose wrinkled. _Can I say that much inside Mount Justice? Crud. Well, lots of people have meetings. Batman comes to meetings here every week, so I guess it isn't really giving anything away…_ "…When are _you_ coming home? Did your mom's surgery go okay?"

"It went very well, thank you. She'll be in the hospital tonight, and then home tomorrow. I imagine I'll fly back sometime on Monday." There was a pause. "Master Wayne said that your report card was excellent."

"He did?" he asked eagerly.

"He did indeed. You achieved straight A's, apparently. We're both quite proud of your performance."

"Thanks," he blushed slightly. "I…I was a little worried, because some of the things we studied were tough. I thought I might have gotten a B in a couple of classes."

"It seems that you mastered everything satisfactorily despite your concerns, young sir. Your instructors are also pleased, judging from the complimentary letters they sent along with your scores."

"Well _that's_ good."

"Yes, it is." They were silent for a moment. "…Try not to be too distraught by Master Wayne's absence, Master Dick. Keep in mind that he'll be back just as soon as he can be, all right?"

"…Sure," the child agreed, frowning mildly. _What is he talking about? Bruce will be home tonight, or tomorrow morning. That's kind of a weird thing to say, unless…_ "Is something going on?" he inquired slowly.

"…No, Master Dick," came back a bit too smoothly. "You simply work on getting well, hmm? You don't want to be sick or tired on your birthday, do you?"

"No. I don't. Did…did you want to talk to…uh…" _What do I call him like this?! _he panicked. _I can't say 'Superman' because we're on a civilian line, but I can't say 'Uncle Clark' because we're inside Mount Justice, and the door's open to the hallway! Even though he's not as picky about who here knows his identity as Batman is, I don't want to say his real name without asking…_

Fortunately he was speaking with Alfred, who immediately gathered the nature of his predicament. "I would like to speak with Mister Kent," he filled in for him. "Although if there is anything else you need to talk about, I'm in no hurry."

"It's okay. We can talk when you get back. Bye," he said, waiting to hear the butler bid him farewell before handing the phone back to its owner. _...Would Alfred hide something from me?_ he wondered. _Maybe. Maybe if Bruce asked him to, but…why would Bruce ask him to? I think there __is__ something going on. What, though?_ His eyebrows drew together. _…I'll bet Superman knows, too. But if Bruce asked him to keep it secret…crud._

"Hello," the Kryptonian greeted. _Oh, boy. Alfred must have said something that clued Dick in on the fact that Bruce isn't coming back until Monday, he looks awfully thoughtful all of a sudden…_

"Mister Kent. Is he, in fact, doing better? I received a text from Master Wayne stating that I should call you for an update and I feared things weren't going well."

"The IV really seems to have helped. It's only been a couple of hours, but, well, you heard him just now. He's a heck of a lot better than he was, dehydration-wise."

"And the flu seems to have passed, you believe?"

"He hasn't thrown up since he woke, and that says a lot considering how he's been since I got to Gotham."

"Very good," he said, sounding relieved. "…I assumed that I was not to say anything to the boy about Master Wayne's delay. Did he speak to you about it?"

"…Yes."

"Did he express a desire to tell Master Dick himself?"

"Yeah, he did."

"I'm glad I said nothing specific, then, although I fear I may have tipped him off by reminding him that he'll return as soon as he can." There was a sigh. "Well. It was foolish to try and comfort him before the fact, I suppose, but what's done is done. Do you have sufficient help where you are?"

"Yup. We've had a couple of visitors, even."

"Excellent. That should help keep his spirits up, at least. Well, then…please call me if anything changes, or if he continues to be unable to speak to Master Wayne. Was there anything else?"

_Alfred might be able to help mitigate Bruce's reaction to the news about the Joker,_ he thought. _…No. Dick didn't mention it to him, so neither will I._ "…No, there's nothing else. Thanks for calling, you had good timing."

"Of course, Mister Kent. And thank _you_, again. Goodbye for now."

"Talk to you later." He hung up, then turned to the boy to find an inquisitive look on his face. _Uh oh. Here we go. _"…Robin? Something wrong?"

"Superman, do you know something that I don't?" he asked bluntly. "I feel like you and…" he nodded towards the mobile still in the man's hand, "are keeping something from me."

"…Why would you think that?" he tried to gloss over the topic.

"Because the first time I asked what was going on I got too rehearsed of an answer," he countered immediately, "and now you're trying to not give me one at all."

"…You're too smart for your own good, pal," he sighed quietly. _I almost forgot how quick you are when you aren't puking your guts up._

"Is…is it something Batman asked you not to mention to me?"

"Yes. It is."

"Then don't tell me," he sank back against his pillow with an unhappy air.

"What?" The Kryptonian was taken aback, having expected a tricky interrogation.

"I don't want you to get in trouble with him, so…it's better if you don't tell me. I really want to know," he stated the obvious, "but not if you telling me makes him even madder at you than he's probably already going to be."

"…Thanks, Robin," Superman said quietly.

"Sure. I…I like hanging out with you. I don't want him to take that away because he's angry."

"I like hanging out with you, too," he smiled, feeling himself melt. "In fact, if you want something to help take your mind off of…well, off of everything," he gave him an understanding look, "I could go get my laptop and we could keep working on our movie marathon. I can get your oyster crackers, too, if you think you're ready to try them."

"Really? You'd do that? I mean, you liked the first one enough to watch more?" he perked up a little.

"It was pretty funny, I have to admit." Even broken up into fifteen and twenty minute segments by the necessities of Dick's illness, he'd enjoyed the film. _Besides, he originally suggested the third part,_ he remembered. _There must have been a reason for that. Maybe it's just that that's his favorite, but I got the feeling there was something else, too…_

"…You liked the penguins the best, didn't you?" the child said slyly.

"…Yeah. I did," he confessed.

"I like them, too. But my _favorite_ favorite character is in the third one." He paused. "Do you think we'll have time to watch both parts before Batman gets back?"

He knew it was a pointed question, but he answered it anyway. _ It's not technically telling if he figures it out for himself,_ he prepared for the inevitable accusations. "…Yeah, pal. I do." Patting his arm, he changed the subject. "I have to switch back into civilian clothes once I get to the cave, so I might be a couple of minutes. Are you okay by yourself, or should I wait to go until someone can sit with you?"

"I'll be okay," he insisted vaguely. _Bruce isn't coming back tonight, is he?_ he ached to inquire. _But you can't tell me. You'll get in trouble if you tell me, and I don't want that. But…I'll bet that's what it is. _He held back a pout. "Could you leave your phone, in case he calls?"

"You bet. Here," he grabbed it off of the counter and handed it to him. "There are a few games on there, if you get bored before I'm back. Since you already know the passcode," he teased.

"Yeah…" He didn't smile back.

_I think he's about to the right conclusion, _Superman lamented as he left the room. _He doesn't know how __much__ longer it's going to be, but he seems to have gathered enough about it to make him sad. You might have trained him __too__ well, Bruce; he's even sussing out your secrets…but then, maybe that's what you were aiming for all along. If he can decipher you, he can break down just about anybody._

Once he was alone, Dick set the mobile carefully on the bedside counter and rolled onto his side, facing away from the door. The needle in his arm tugged as he turned, making him wince, but that unpleasant sensation wasn't what caused a pair of tears soak into his mask. _Maybe he only has to stay until tomorrow,_ he attempted to calm himself. _Maybe…maybe he'll still be home so we can spend Sunday together. Maybe it's not even that he has to stay; maybe it's something else. _The more he thought about it, though, the more convinced he became that he wasn't going to be seeing Bruce any time this weekend. _Why else would Alfred tell me to remember that he'll be back as soon as he can be? And I know the movies aren't that long, but it took us almost a whole day to get through the first one, so…at a day apiece, that's a lot longer than Bruce thought he'd be gone. That's…that's at least two more days, if you figure it at the rate we've been going, and Superman said we'd have time for them both…_

He wasn't helping his cause any, he knew, but he couldn't stop. _I feel like it's been forever since he left,_ he sniffled. _And I know I'm being a baby about it, but…I miss him so much. He had to go, I know he had to go, but I was sick, and he left anyway. And now…with the Joker…I can't sleep now, I don't want to have that dream again. It was scary, and he's not here to make me feel better, and…and I can't even tell him on the phone, because he'll get upset. I thought he'd be back tonight, and it would be okay…but it's not. It's not okay. _He bit his lip as his mask absorbed more water. _Batman wouldn't be happy if I was crying in Mount Justice,_ he thought sternly. _Except he's not here to be disappointed, so who cares, really? He's…he's not here._

That was it; he couldn't hold back any longer. Letting his sobs out as tiny whimpers lest someone passing in the hall overhear, he vented his frustration. _I want Bruce,_ he whined silently. _I just want Bruce…_


	15. Chapter 15

Wonder Woman was walking down the passageway when she heard a sniffle. Frowning, she peeked into the nearest room, her face softening when she spotted a tousled head. _Oh, sweetie, why are you crying? And where did Superman go?_ Concerned, she stepped inside and moved around the bed.

His eyes were closed behind his mask, and as a result he jumped when a gentle hand smoothed his hair back. "Shh, it's okay," a feminine voice promised. "I didn't mean to startle you."

…_Oh. It's Wonder Woman. _"…Hi," he whispered, dragging his tears back under control now that someone else was here.

"Hi," she smiled. "You sounded pretty upset. Is something wrong?" As she spoke, her fingers continued to slide along his scalp, enacting a light massage. _That bruising looks better already,_ she noted. _J'onn must have whipped up something to help it..._

"I'm all right," he insisted quietly.

"…You know, honey, Batman's not here to be upset with you for telling me what's got you so worked up," she reminded him. To her surprise, that only made things worse, and he turned his head into the pillow and started to cry again. _…I guess that's the problem, then,_ she surmised. _Batman's not here._ "Ohh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that was what was bothering you," she apologized. "I'm sorry, Robin."

"S'okay…ow!" he exclaimed as her hand touched the area at the back of his head that had connected with the wall.

"And now I'm hurting you physically, too," she pulled back, then came forward once more to perch on the edge of the bed. "So…you're missing Batman?"

"Y-yeah…" He didn't know why he was opening up to her – _maybe it's because she smells a little bit like mom did,_ he thought distantly – but she had a point. Batman couldn't be mad about what he didn't know. _And he might not even be mad at all. He's not here to talk to, after all, so…who would he __want__ me to go to? _

"Has he been gone long?" Mindful of the sore spot she'd found, she touched his hair again, her thumb rubbing in a gentle circle on his left temple.

"…Feels like forever," he said sadly. "He was supposed to be back tonight, but…I don't think he will be. Everyone's acting weird about it."

"Oh…well, you know he'll be back as soon as he can be," she tried.

"I know, but…I still miss him."

"Is Superman doing a good job taking care of you?"

"Yeah, of course, but…" he shrugged. "He's not Batman."

_You really love that big, scary jerk, don't you?_ she shook her head. "No, I guess there's not really a substitute for a parent, is there?"

_He __is__ the substitute for my parents, and now he's not here, either,_ he couldn't tell her. "…No."

"Where did Superman go?"

"He went to get some stuff. Crackers, and a movie." He shifted slightly so that her hand was working a bit higher. "He should be back soon, if you were looking for him."

"I wasn't. I just noticed you were here all by yourself and thought I'd see if you wanted some company." _Fall asleep, sweetie. The time will go faster if you sleep through it._

"…Thank you," he mumbled. His eyes were heavy, and it felt so good when she moved down to his neck…

She was shocked when he gasped suddenly and scooted away. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you again?"

"No. No, I just…I was falling asleep."

"That's okay," she encouraged. "It doesn't hurt my feelings any. You've been sick, you need to sleep to get your strength back."

"I don't want to sleep," he said, swallowing hard. "I'd…I'd rather stay awake."

She couldn't see his eyes, but she could sense his fear. "…Did you have a bad dream?" she asked seriously.

"Um…yeah. But I can't talk about it. Not…not until I talk to Batman. I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help, but…"

"Shh. It's okay," she held up a hand. "I understand." Spotting the container of bruise solvent, she gestured towards it. "…Has Superman been putting this on for you?"

"Huh? Oh. I don't know. He hasn't put any on since I've been awake. What is it?"

"It looks like something that J'onn came up with a while back for making bruises disappear faster," she said, stretching over to pick it up. "It works fairly well, but you have to reapply it often for the best result. I'll bet he mixed this up for your face."

"…Oh," he sighed, raising a hand to his cheek. "Are…are they really bad looking?"

"They aren't pretty," she admitted. "But they'll go away."

"…Not before Batman sees them, they won't," he grimaced. "Not unless that stuff works at Flash-like speeds."

She laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm not making fun of your situation," she assured him. "And unfortunately it isn't quite _that_ fast. But they won't be quite so…_purple_…by this time tomorrow. If you keep using this, they should be almost invisible in four or five days."

"Four or five days?" He looked pained. "…How am I going to go to school on Monday?"

"I don't know, honey," she shook her head. "But if you'd like, I can put some of this on to help them go away."

He bit his lip for a moment. "Okay." He lay still as she scooped a little of the salve up with two fingers and gently smoothed it on. Somehow she did it without pressing, ensuring that there was no pain in the application. The lotion-like substance was cool against his skin, and his mouth trembled as it reminded him of something. She stopped.

"…Did that hurt?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was just…remembering something. That's all." _Mom used to do the same thing. That's what it was. When it was windy, and I'd been out with the animals or helping set up the tents, I'd come inside and she'd always say something about my cheeks being red. Then she'd pull out the aloe vera and rub it on…'your skin gets chapped enough from the trapeze,' that's what she always said. 'Your father never puts on aloe, and now his face is rough as leather.' And it was, but she didn't really seem to mind it on him…crap, she's staring at me._ "Sorry. Are you done?"

"I am," she said. _He looked so lost for a moment there. Even without seeing his eyes, it was obvious that he was thinking about something that pains him. _"And good timing, too," she looked to the door as Superman came in with his arms full. "…Do you feel a little better now?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he half-lied. _I'll feel better when Bruce is back_. Still, though, he liked Wonder Woman – he hadn't met a member of the League yet that he _didn't _like - and he appreciated the attention she'd given him. It had been nice to have someone mothering him again. Alfred and Bruce had their own unique and treasured ways of taking care of him, but there was something special about a woman's touch. "Thank you for sitting with me. Would you like to watch the movie with us?" he offered.

She smiled. "Thank you for the invitation, but I was on my way to an engagement. Maybe another time, though, hmm?"

"Sure. I hope I didn't make you late for your appointment."

"You didn't. And even if you had, I wouldn't have minded." She squeezed his hand. "I don't want to see you in a medical bed again for a long, long time, okay?"

"It's not really my idea of a good time, either," he agreed.

"Well, good. You have fun with Superman. I'll see you soon."

"Okay," he smiled. She imitated the expression, then kissed the end of her index finger and pressed it gently against the tip of his nose. "Bye," he told her quietly as she got up.

"Bye, Robin." On her way past Superman, she pouted slightly and glanced surreptitiously back towards the bed.

He nodded, catching her meaning. "You ready for some more penguins?" he asked when he was alone with the boy.

"Sure." _Maybe the movie will help distract me from knowing what Bruce is probably going to say when he calls,_ he thought. _And I can eat some crackers. I'm kind of hungry, actually…_ "Did you bring the crackers?"

"I did. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please." Rolling onto his back again and scooting up, he accepted the opened bag and dug in.

"Whoa, take it slow."

"…I'm hungry," he rebutted.

"And that's good, but remember what happened with the water? The same thing might happen with crackers."

He winced, imagining how that would feel. "…Ow. That sounds painful." Slowing down, he popped them into his mouth a few at a time. _I kind of wish I had some soup. Alfred's broth would be really good with these…but Superman just came back, I can't ask him to go again. And I've seen the kitchen here, there's no way they have anything edible. Except maybe Milanos, but those are Flash's, and I don't want cookies right now._ He paused at that. _Wow. I must have been really sick for that to happen…_

"So how was your conversation with our British friend?" Superman asked as he brought the computer over to the bed and set it up. "I didn't get a chance to ask before I left."

"…It was good." _Except the part where he – accidently, I think – let on that Bruce isn't coming back for a while, _he thought. "He said my report card came."

"Oh, yeah? How was it?"

"It was good."

_Repetitive answers. I've got to distract you from Bruce, and from that dream… _"Do you like this new school better than your old one?" The billionaire might not have been terribly forthcoming in recent months, but even his ongoing jealousy hadn't been enough to keep him from crowing to Clark about the downfall of Ricky Van Cleave. That had, of course, led to a brief explanation about the change in schools, and he'd been curious since as to whether or not it the new setting had made a difference. As Bruce's mood towards him had seemed to sour again over the past few weeks, however, he'd sensed it wasn't a good time to ask and as such remained in the dark.

"I do," he nodded firmly. "I don't get teased nearly as much. There are even a couple kids who will eat lunch with me."

'_Nearly as much?'_ "So…is someone still being mean to you?" _Why? Who would have a reason to be mean to you, seriously?_

"Well, yeah, but it's way better than it was at my old school, so I don't mind. I think a lot of the other kids don't even really see me, you know? I guess maybe because I'm so much younger than them or something. But I like my science lab partner, he's nice to me." He paused. "I just hope it isn't because his grade's come up two letters since I was assigned to him."

_Wow. That really doesn't sound all that much better on the social front,_ the Kryptonian considered. "Well, how about your classes? Are you enjoying them? You skipped a few grades, so you must be learning tough stuff now."

"Kind of," he shrugged. "The math and science stuff isn't too hard – well, except the Krebs Cycle, I don't know why but I always leave one step out - and I'm having fun in French and English. Computer class is hard sometimes, though. It's like a whole other language. And I feel like there's a lot we just _don't_ talk about in history, but…it's still interesting. We were talking about knights and chivalry and all of that a few weeks ago, so that was fun." He looked at the computer expectantly. "…Is it ready?"

"It is. How about we flip which side of the bed you're on?"

"…What do you mean?" Robin puzzled.

"Well, I'll lower the head part, and raise the foot part, and then you can sit up, I can pull that chair over," he nodded towards the seat in the corner, "and we can both see the movie. Sound good?"

"I get to lay on the foot part? Weird," he smiled slightly. "Okay."

They made the necessary adjustments and started the movie, the boy still munching on the quickly disappearing oyster crackers. _He seems to be dwelling on it a little less, at least,_ Superman noted as they laughed at a joke. _That's better than nothing._ Halfway through the story, he looked over again to find him asleep, a nearly-empty plastic bag still cradled in one arm. _Maybe I should have had him drink something with all of that,_ the Kryptonian realized as he paused the film. _…I don't know if I can give him more saline. Is it possible to overdose? He's so small that it wouldn't be hard to do…_

Pulling the covers up and dimming the lights, he made his way towards the lab J'onn had been favoring of late. "Knock knock," he interrupted. "You have a minute?"

"Of course. This needs to sit for a while," the Martian turned. "Is there a problem?"

"No. Robin just ate about an entire bag of crackers, and the brilliant fellow who didn't bother to give him anything to drink with it is standing in front of you wondering if it's safe to give him more saline instead."

"Can't he just drink something now?"

"He's sleeping. I really don't want to wake him if it can be avoided."

"…I'll come take a look." As they walked down the hall, he ventured a question. "I have been meaning to ask you something, Superman."

"What's that?"

"…How do you feel about there being children in…our line of work?"

He took a deep breath. "It's a little late to try and do anything about it," he opined. "And, in Robin's case at least, I think it's necessary for his own good."

"As it is for Batman," he nodded. "I thought you might feel as such."

"…Why? Has someone else said something?"

"There are always whispers. No one outright objects, but…you may have noticed that Green Arrow is careful to keep his distance of late?"

"Yeeeah…" _I don't like where this is going. We can't afford any divisions._

"He doesn't seem to believe that either of them will survive for long. He is particularly certain that Robin will be the first to…well. The heavy melee aspect of Batman's approach, along with Robin's extreme youth, are what have led him to that conclusion. That is why he's stayed away; he likes both Robin and Kid Flash – I believe the words he used were that he 'admires their pluck' - and is afraid of becoming attached only to have something happen."

"They've both done just fine so far, haven't they?" he objected. "Especially Robin. Not to downplay Kid Flash, but…Robin has no 'extra' abilities. He's just a regular human, like his mentor. But he holds his own."

"I believe that's why Green Arrow fears he will be the first. As a non-metahuman himself, he has a better sense for just how risky it is to do what we do without any ingrained powers."

They stopped a short way from the room he'd left the sleeping boy in. "…How do _you_ feel about it, J'onn?"

"I agree with you, on both counts. And I think Green Arrow underestimates the boy. Greatly, perhaps. No," he amended, thinking about his short vigil over Batman's protégé a while earlier. "…Just greatly. I do not have the gift of precognition, Superman, but it is my strong opinion that our archer friend is wrong about Robin's future."

"…I'm very glad to hear you say that," the Kryptonian told him seriously.

"I thought you might be. For a man who professes to want no children yourself, you have developed quite a soft spot for Robin."

"Haven't we all, though? You left what you were working on – twice now – to come check on him."

"I've never claimed to be exempt from so-called human emotions. And I sense immense possibilities in him. I'm interested in-" he broke off suddenly, frowning. "He's disturbed."

"Excuse me?"

"He's having a nightmare. I wouldn't have realized except that he's projecting it so vividly."

"…Can you tell what it is? I know you hate doing that," he raised both hands placatingly, "but he had one earlier, and didn't want to talk about it with anyone but Batman. Who, as you know, won't be home for a while. If there's something I can do to help him sleep better in the meantime…"

"You don't have to say anything more," the Martian grimaced. "…It's very dark. Painful." He started slightly. "For a _child_ to think of such things…"

"What?"

"Having his eyelids cut out by…a clown?" He caught a name. "…Isn't the Joker one of Batman's primary adversaries?"

"Yeah. That's, ah…that's who we ran into at the store this morning. Keep that to yourself, at least until I get a chance to explain to you-know-who."

"I will." His troubled expression deepened. "…I've woken him."

"…On purpose?"

"Yes. That was a terrible dream, and if he's had it once before, there was no reason to force him through the entire thing again." He reached out and gripped Superman's arm, halting him as he turned to enter the room. "Give him a moment to collect himself. There are only two people living whom he wouldn't mind seeing him in his current state, and neither of them are here."

After what seemed like an eternity but was, he knew, only a half-minute or so, the Martian released him, then followed him into the room. "…Robin?" he asked gently, flipping on the lights and coming up to the bed to find him staring at his knees, shaking slightly. "Another bad dream, huh?"

"Yeah. But I'm fine." When J'onn came up and began to remove the empty saline bag, he broached a question. "…Could you give me something so I don't get sleepy until Batman gets back?"

"…I could, yes. But I wouldn't dare without his permission. It would be disrespectful."

"Oh. Okay. I understand." _And I'm __not__ bringing this up on the phone, so…I'm just going to have to stay awake on my own. _

"Are you feeling better?" he went on, trying to calm the fear and panic he still felt pinging around in the child's mind. _He's keeping it remarkably well contained. Did Batman teach him that, or is it something he learned himself?_

"Yes," he nodded. "My head still hurts a little, though."

"There are aspirin in one of the drawers," he informed him. "You can have _one_, if you want. You shouldn't need saline now that you're holding down solid food. Drink, but not too much or too fast. If you've had a few cups of water and you don't need to relieve yourself in the next couple of hours, have Superman come get me. Alright?"

"Sure," Robin nodded. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he nodded gravely. "I'll leave you two with that."

"…I like him," the boy informed the remaining man once the Martian had departed. "He doesn't treat me like a little kid."

"Who treats you like a little kid?"

"I don't know, specifically. It's just this feeling I get sometimes, like adults are kind of dumbing things down or leaving out details that they think are too extreme or that they think I won't understand. He doesn't do that. He talks to me like I'm just a normal person."

"…Do I do that? Dumb things down?"

"Maybe a little. But it's okay, I know you don't mean anything by it. It doesn't hurt my feelings."

"Good. Tell me if it ever does, okay?"

"Sure." He was playing with his finger now, tugging at a hangnail as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

_He's still thinking about it. _"…Do you want to talk about the dream, Robin? I know I'm not Batman, but…it might help."

"It was the same one as before," he sighed. "Just…the Joker, being the Joker, I guess."

"So…how do you fe-" He stopped as the cell phone rang. "…Now _this_ is definitely for you."

The boy took the device and looked down at it for a second. "Could…could I have a minute, please?" he requested.

"You bet, pal. I'll be right outside, okay?"

He nodded, then watched the Kryptonian walk away. As soon as the door had closed, he accepted the call. _Don't give anything away. He'll know. He always knows when something's really bothering me, but he __can't__ know, not yet. _"…Hi, daddy."


	16. Chapter 16

Bruce didn't even wait until he was in the car to dial Clark's cell. _Pick up, damn it, pick up,_ he cursed silently, nodding towards Durant and several of his underlings as they walked by. Just before the call went to voicemail, he heard it connect.

"…Hi, daddy."

The second word made something pinch in his chest as he all but fell into the car. "Hey, kiddo," he crooned, fumbling uselessly for his seatbelt. _God, you really __do__ miss me, if that's how you're opening the conversation…_ "How're you feeling?"

"Better."

"Yeah? No more throwing up, huh?"

"No, that's stopped." _Finally, _the boy thought.

"Did Clark take you to get an IV?"

"Yeah…that helped."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I just ate a bunch of crackers a little while ago. Then I slept some more."

"Good," he visibly relaxed. _Okay. He sounds like he's doing much better now. That's going to make it easier to tell him the bad news, at least._ "Are you back at home yet?" the billionaire inquired.

"No."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get to go soon, if you're feeling less sick."

"I am."

Bruce frowned. _He sounds distant, almost cautious. I thought he would be ecstatic, he's normally bubbly as hell when I'm at my office and we talk on the phone. I suppose it could just be an aftereffect of his illness, but…I don't know. If I was there with him I could tell in an instant, but from here…_ "You sound kind of out of it, chum. Is something going on?"

In his hospital bed, Dick froze. _Uh-oh._ "No," he shook his head vehemently, the action reinforcing the denial in his voice. "Nothing's wrong."

"If you're tired, we can talk later. It's okay if you need to sleep some more."

"No!" he yipped. _I've waited for __forever__ to talk to you, and who knows when you'll have time to call back?_ he bit back a whine. _And I can't sleep, I know you don't know that but the last thing I want to do is sleep…I'll have that dream again, or maybe an even worse one…_ "I'm not sleepy. I want to talk. Please?"

"I'm not going to hang up until you're ready for me to, Dicky," he soothed. "I'm sorry it took so long for us to get to talk. I tried a few times, but you were asleep. You needed to rest." _I should just tell him instead of dragging this out,_ he sighed silently. _But I know he's going to be upset, and right now I don't have it in me to hear him crying from three thousand miles away. I'll tell him when it seems like we're winding down; that way he at least gets to be happy for a couple of minutes._ "I got your message."

"I'm glad…I miss you," came through hoarsely.

_Oh, baby. _"I miss you, too, kiddo," he closed his eyes, fingers whitening as he gripped the phone. "Your report card came," he tried to change the subject before his throat grew thick.

"Yeah. I heard it was good?"

_So you talked to Alfred, then. He must not have told you I'm stuck here for three more days, or I'm sure we'd be having a very different conversation right now. I swear that man reads my mind, I didn't even have to tell him not to say anything to you. _"It was _very_ good," he emphasized. _I hate how lonely you sound._ "Your math teacher wants to talk about having you on the math team next year," he revealed, hoping it would be enough to cheer him up before he broke the bad news.

"…Really?!" _No way! _he cheered mentally, momentarily distracted from what he knew was coming.

_I thought that might raise your spirits,_ Bruce smirked. "Really."

"Can I? I mean, I know it's after school and I've got other stuff, but-"

"We'll talk about it after Alfred or I find out the specifics. But I don't think it will be a problem."

"Yay!"

He just _knew_ his boy was bouncing in his seat. _Hell, he's been talking about this ever since he found out Gotham Academy __had__ a math team. If he wasn't just getting over a flu he'd probably be pinging off the walls…_ "Are you having fun with Clark?"

"…Yes."

The sudden switch in the child's tone from exuberance to hesitation drew a concerned look across the billionaire's face. "You sounded kind of uncertain there. Is something wrong?" _It better not be._

"No. I've just been sick most of the time, and it's hard to have fun when you're sick." _Nothing's wrong. The Joker totally didn't try to kill me in a supermarket bathroom this morning. Everything's fine,_ he swallowed heavily. "We've just talked, and had a movie marathon. Well…we're trying to. He keeps having to pause it whenever I'm sick or I fall asleep." He paused. "…Are you still mad at him? Because I know I've said this before, but it's really silly if you are." _But maybe if you __aren't__, maybe, just maybe, I can get away with telling you about earlier…_

"I…" _Ooh, pulling out the heavy topics. I guess that's only fair, considering what I'm about to tell you._ "Yes and no. Yes because…well, a lot of reasons that I don't really want to go into on the phone. No because I've finally realized what the biggest reason I've been angry with him is, and it's something that really isn't his fault. Plus…it sounds like he's doing a good job taking care of you, and that's worth a lot." _So much, Dick. That fact alone is worth so much to me. You have no idea._

_Let's see if you still think that after I tell you about the Joker,_ the boy's mouth flinched. _Which I can't do right now, not if you might still be a little angry at him. _"Yeah," he said firmly. "He is. A _really_ good job."

"Good." _…Better than me?_ he couldn't keep himself from wondering in a small internal voice.

"…He's not you, though. I…I miss you." _Stop saying that, he's going to know something's up! But…I do miss him. When are you coming home for real, Bruce?_ He longed to get it out in the open, over and done with. _You're avoiding it. We both know that you've got bad news, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's that you have to stay in Bruges longer, but you're not telling me. The longer you talk about other things, the worse I feel…_

"I know, chum. I miss you, too." _God, how I miss you. A phone call isn't enough. It's better than nothing, but it's not the same. It's just __not__._ "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you; you're _sure_ you don't want to do anything special for your birthday?" It seemed like a slightly off the wall question, but he _had_ been reminding himself to ask, and at this point he would go for any topic that might keep the inevitable tears at bay a little bit longer. _A phone call might not be enough, but it's better than nothing, and I'll be damned if I let it end any sooner than it absolutely has to,_ he swore silently.

Alone in his medical room, the child shrugged. _He's still avoiding it. But at least thinking of things to talk about is keeping him from noticing that __I'm_ _hiding something, too_. "I don't know. I'm happy just spending it with you and…with you, especially since you've been gone. I wish I didn't have to go to school that day, though. It's lame that my birthday's a Thursday this year."

"That just means that we'll have to treat next Saturday _and_ Sunday like your birthday."

"…Can we do that? The whole weekend?"

"Sure, chum." _Whatever you want. Just don't hate me for what I'm about to tell you._ "Dick…listen…"

_Here we go. _"How much longer?" he cut him off bluntly. _Now that we've gotten to the point of your call, I don't want to hear you try to soften it. Just tell me._ There were already tears in his eyes.

"…How did you know?" Bruce asked tightly. _I told Clark not to tell you for a reason, damn it! _

"It…it wasn't anyone's fault. I just…figured it out. Nobody told me, I promise," he defended both the butler and the hero.

…_Of course you did._ He sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I don't want to stay here, I really don't. You know I'd rather be home with you, don't you? Dick?"

"I know," he whispered, his mask wet against his cheeks again. _I know, but it still hurts._

"I would just come home and then fly back for the final signing, but they've got all these events planned, and there was a misunderstanding with the schedule, and...I wish I could leave right now, Dicky, but it would be considered rude. It would look like I was shunning their apology for not giving us a correct itinerary. Do…do you understand?" he asked hopefully.

"I understand," he choked out. "So…so when…?"

"I should be home late Monday evening." There was a mewling little moan that left him feeling like a criminal. _You're a terrible person, Bruce Wayne,_ he accused himself.

"…_Monday?"_ Part of him had suspected as much – after all, his guardian only conducted business on weekends because he was a workaholic, not because it was normal – but having it confirmed sucked away his last vague hope that he was blowing the delay out of proportion.

"I'm so sorry, Dicky, I really am, I promise I'll make it up to you…" _This is too much,_ he groaned to himself as he listened to the sniffles and sobs that came through the phone. It was obvious that strong efforts were being made to suppress them, but there was only so much the distraught child could do. After about twenty seconds, he couldn't stand it anymore. "Please stop crying," he begged quietly.

"I'm t-_trying_…" _You don't understand, I can't sleep. I can't sleep, and it won't get better until I can talk to you about my dream, but I can't tell you over the phone because you're gonna freak out…and I thought maybe I could and it would be okay, but it won't be, I know that now…and…and…_ "I th-think I sh-should hang up now." _You're going to figure out that something else is wrong in about ten more seconds, and I won't be able to keep from telling you if you ask what's wrong again._

"No, Dick, I didn't mean-" _Shit, no, don't hang up, it's okay, we can keep talking…I knew you'd be upset, but this is intense…you didn't even cry quite this bad when I left to begin with. What's going on?_

"It's okay," he managed to control himself for just a second. "I'm not mad, honest. I understand. I'll s-see you Monday. I love you." And before Bruce could lodge another protest or, worse yet, inquire as to what it was other than his absence had him so worked up, he ended the call. Then, knowing that his guardian was likely to hit redial immediately, he turned the phone's volume down to silent and set it aside. Finally he lay down and curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to keep his misery to himself.

A minute later, as he'd suspected would happen, the door behind him opened, then shut. A kind hand was laid on his shoulder as Superman sat on the edge of the bed. "…I'm sorry, pal," he said simply.

"D-did you know how much longer he's g-gonna be gone?" he stuttered through his tears.

"…Yeah. He told me he has to stay until Monday."

"And Alfred, too," he whispered, low.

Superman didn't have the heart to remind him that he probably shouldn't use the butler's name in their current location, even with the door closed. _He knows that, anyway,_ he thought. _He's just an emotional wreck right now._ "I know," he tried to soothe him. "Robin, I know I'm a poor substitute, but…_I_ won't go anywhere until at least one of them is back."

Nothing was said for a long while as the boy cried himself out. Eventually he rolled onto his back and raised the lenses of his mask. "Promise?" he asked simply, tear-brightened blue boring into the Kryptonian.

"Barring some kind of world-threatening scheme or disaster, yes. I promise."

It wasn't Alfred, and it certainly wasn't Bruce, but at least there was someone willing to stay with him. _And Uncle Clark knows about the Joker, so maybe he'll understand why I don't want to go to sleep until Bruce is back. _"…Can you take me home now, please?" he asked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before scrubbing angrily at his eyes and dropping the lenses back into place.

"If that will make you feel better, you bet. But if you start throwing up again, we're coming back."

"Okay," he nodded. "I don't think I will, though."

"Let me pack up the stuff I brought. You stay in bed, this will just take a minute." As he gathered the few things he'd transported from the manor, he kept up their conversation. "…Did he figure it out, about the Joker?"

"No. I…I hung up right after I started crying. But I think he was starting to figure out that something wasn't right." He buried his face in his arms. "I don't want him to worry, but I know he is anyway..."

"And knowing about this morning will only make it worse." He paused. "…You didn't hang up _on_ him, did you?"

"Umm…not exactly?" he sent the man a guilty look. "I…I put your phone on silent," he confessed. "Cause I knew he was probably going to call right back."

"Shit," he muttered, picking it up. "…It could be worse," he said as he checked it. "He's only called once. And sent two texts," he added. "I'll call him when we get back," he decided. "Would you carry this? You have pockets."

"Sure," he accepted it, climbing down off of the bed when he realized the Kryptonian was ready to go.

"…Do you want me to carry you?"

"I can make it okay," he said stoutly. _It's not that far._

A few minutes later they were in the cave. Dick slumped over to the costume area and removed his mask, then headed for the stairs. _I'm so tired,_ he moaned, exhausted by the combination of his talk with Bruce and the short walk from the mountain's medical section. _But how can I sleep? He'll come back for me. I know he will. He'll cut my face open again and steal my eyelids._

"Dick? Hold up." Seeing the boy trudging away, he'd put on a bit of speed in his changing and now joined him at the base of the staircase. "…I think you should drink something. Do you want to try and finish the movie?"

"…Can we leave the lights on?"

"Sure. Why don't you go up and find where we left off, and I'll call Bruce back so he doesn't think we're ignoring him."

"…Okay." Pulling the cell phone out, he handed it back to its owner. "Uncle Clark?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"Could you…could you make sure he knows I'm not mad at him? I…I don't think he entirely believed me before."

He knelt down to his level. "…You really _aren't_ angry with him, are you?" he marveled.

"No. It's not his fault. He has to stay for business. I know he doesn't want to," he looked away, glancing, Clark noticed, towards where Batman's costume hung. "I could hear it in his voice. But he can't be rude and leave. I'm sad, and kind of mad at the people who didn't tell him everything before he left, but…not at him. Never at him." He shook his head. "Not really, and not for very long."

_Wow. I think I'd be ticked if I were you, but you just…forgive him. _Reaching out, he placed one finger beneath the pointed chin and lifted gently. "You're an amazing person, Dick," he said quietly. "Don't ever forget that."

A mix of embarrassment and skepticism came over his face. "…Thanks," he murmured. "I guess I'll go get the movie ready."

"I'll be quick. And I'll bring you some ginger ale. I think there's a little you haven't thrown up yet," he tried to joke. The quip earned him a vague smile. _Better than nothing_.

"Alfred doesn't normally even let soda into the house, let alone into me. I'd kind of like to keep some of it," he replied. "…But if we run out, I _don't_ want to go to the store for more."

"Yeah, I don't blame you." He paused. "You know I'll be more than happy to listen if you want to talk about it, right?"

"I know," he nodded. "…See you in a minute. I think I might take the elevator…"

"You do that," he stayed low as the child walked away. _Okay, Bruce,_ he allowed. _…I have to admit, I __might__ be starting to get a bit jealous. _J'onn's words teased him as he regained his full height. _I'm a guy who doesn't want kids, but the soft spot I've got for yours is getting awfully sizable…_


	17. Chapter 17

"Clark, what the _hell_ is going on?!" Bruce spat, snatching up his phone before the first chime finished sounding.

"…I don't know what you're talking about." _Okay, this could get ugly,_ he braced himself, sitting down at one of the cave's computer terminals.

"Dick all but hung up on me a little while ago, and then no one answered when I called back!" He paced his hotel room, his hair messy from the constant raking of his hand despite its short length. _"Why?"_

"He's upset, Bruce," the Kryptonian said gently. "You had to know he was going to be hurt by the fact that you're going to be gone more than twice as long as we thought. It took him a little bit to calm down, that's why no one answered. It just would have set him off again." _I'm thinking that telling you he silenced the phone so he wouldn't hear you calling would be a bad decision,_ he decided, keeping that information to himself. "But, as I'm sure he told you, he's feeling a lot better. We're back at the manor now. He'll be fine, just…give him some time to process everything."

"Let me talk to him."

"He's upstairs getting a movie ready. But," he went on before the other man could explode, "he specifically asked me to make sure that you know that he isn't mad at you. And he meant it, too, believe it or not."

"He _should_ be mad at me," the billionaire hissed with an acid meant for himself rather than the person he was speaking to._ He should be furious. He isn't, though. He isn't, and I knew he wouldn't be, or at least not for very long, and I…I used that. I used that knowledge to do something that hurt him. God damn me._

_I hope you don't want me to argue with you, because it's not going to happen_, Clark thought."…Yeah. You're right, he should be. But he's not, for some reason that I can't figure out." They were both silent for a minute. "…You're one _lucky_ son of a bitch, Bruce Wayne."

"…I know," he dropped onto the bed and covered his eyes. "I know."

There was a faint sniff from the Europe end of the line. "…Bruce," Clark said helplessly. _Seriously? One of you crying in the past fifteen minutes wasn't enough? _He paused. _And since when do you cry, anyway?_

"I can't fucking help it, all right?!" Listening to Dick sob, knowing there was nothing he could possibly say to make it better, he'd almost lost it. Only years of practice at controlling his expression had allowed him to keep from breaking down in front of his complete stranger of a driver, and even then it had been close. Now, knowing that the boy had already forgiven him so utterly that it had evidently floored Clark, he had no more strength to hold back. "I hate myself right now."

"…I don't know what to say to that," the Kryptonian admitted. "Except maybe thanks."

"What do you mean, _thanks_?"

"For sharing. You, ah…you haven't been, lately. Not with me." He didn't know why he'd suddenly felt the urge to turn the focus of the conversation towards their recently strained friendship – maybe it was just because it was the only thing he could think of that might make the indescribably _weird_ experience of hearing Bruce Wayne cry stop - but it seemed oddly timely.

"…Oh," he cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. "Well…I had my reasons."

"You always do," he laughed slightly. "It's part of your charm."

"…I have no charm." _Not the real me, at least._

"Sorry, I must have confused you with your son for a second there."

"Heh. Yeah…" He took a deep breath. _Christ, I've been gone twenty-four hours, and so much has happened…and the worst part is that I get the feeling I don't even know everything that's occurred in my absence._ "Clark…he seemed more upset a little bit ago than he was when I left yesterday. Is there something else going on?"

_Well, at least he's asking, not demanding,_ the Kryptonian considered. _Which means he's not __entirely__ sure there's a problem. This could still work._ "He's just exhausted, Bruce," he covered. _It's not a lie. Dick's worn out; I could see his gait change just between the mountain and here as he used up what little energy he had. And the fact that he took the elevator…somehow I highly doubt that he usually does that. He's more of the 'skip every other step as he goes up' kind of kid. _"He's been sick since you left, he hasn't gotten to talk to you, and then when he finally _does_ get to do so it's only to learn that he has to wait even longer than he thought before he gets to see you again. I'm not surprised that he was worse this time, are you?"

"…No. I suppose not." There was still a nagging feeling in the back of his head, but he tried to ignore it. _They both say everything's fine, and he's got a point; I'd be more emotional than usual if I was coming off of a nasty flu and got bad news, too. _ "What did J'onn say?"

"Just mild dehydration. He woke up about halfway through his saline and was doing much better. Now he's eaten something, which he seems to be keeping down without any problems, and is moving around under his own power."

"So much better, then," he sighed, falling backwards onto the mattress. _God, this day has been tiring. Not that I had much sleep to go on to begin with. I wonder if I have time for a nap before I have to get ready for that dinner Durant arranged for this evening…_

"Yes."

"Good." Neither spoke for a moment. "…Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell him again that I'm sorry. That I wish I could do something about it."

"…I will, Bruce."

"Okay. I'll call later and see how he is."

"Sounds good."

As soon as the call ended, Clark pocketed the phone and headed upstairs. Carrying a glass of ginger ale in one hand and the Pedialyte in the other, he entered the den to find the movie paused on the screen but no one present. "Uh…Dick?" he called, setting down the supplies.

"In here," his voice came from the bathroom. "You can come in." The door was cracked, and the man nudged it open further to find the boy standing in front of the mirror, examining the mottled splotches on his cheeks. "…Bruce is going to _flip_ when he sees these," he lamented, glancing over at him. "And I can't go to school like this, either."

"Well, we've got until Monday to get them as faded as we can, at least. They already look better than they did," he informed him. "I left the rest of J'onn's bruise solution downstairs. Let me go get it, and we'll put some more on."

"Okay."

They reconvened on the couch. "I wonder how this stuff compares to Alfred's mix," Dick thought out loud as Clark smeared more of it across his face.

"Alfred has something like this?"

"Uh-huh. We, uh…we go through a lot of it," he confessed. "It works pretty well, but I don't think it's quite as fast as Wonder Woman said this is. It's definitely not yellow," he frowned.

"I'll see if I can talk the recipe out of J'onn, although knowing him they might not all be Earthly ingredients."

"…Really?"

"Well, he _is_ a Martian."

"That's true," he conceded. "…Uncle Clark?"

"Hmm?"

"…How was he? Bruce?"

"He was…well, he was upset, Dick," he explained, setting the jar aside for later. "He…"

"He cried, didn't he?" he asked gravely.

"…Now how did you know that?"

"Just a hunch, I guess," he answered guiltily. "…Did I hurt his feelings when I had to hang up so quick?"

"I think he was more concerned about you than anything."

"…Oh. Good, I don't want him to think I'm mad at him."

"He knows you've already forgiven him. I told him. And," he added, "he wanted me to make sure and tell you again how sorry he is, and how much he wishes he could do something to fix it."

"…I feel bad that I made him sad," Dick whispered, eyes wide as he stared up at the Kryptonian.

His thumb paused mid-way through its final swipe across his cheek. "It wasn't your fault, pal. It was his choice, in the end. If he's miserable, it's at least partly because of his own actions."

"Not really," he shook his head. "Bruce couldn't have made any other decision. It wouldn't have been _him_."

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Okay, you're set for a little while," he pulled back, changing the subject. "You said Pedialyte doesn't taste very good, right?"

"It's pretty much disgusting."

"What if we mix it with the soda?"

Dick considered the suggestion. "…That might work. Or it might just ruin the soda."

"Do you want to try it?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, leaning against the arm of the couch and watching as Clark mixed the two. "Thanks." He took an experimental sip. "…It's not too bad."

"Will you work on that while we watch the movie? Maybe we can finish the rest of the second one before you fall asleep," he nudged him teasingly.

"…I'm not going to fall asleep, Uncle Clark," he said seriously.

"You _can't _stay up until Bruce comes home, Dick," was replied gently.

"You're going to, aren't you?" he batted back.

"That's a little different, and you know it. Even if you weren't getting over being sick, it's not reasonable to expect a human being to stay up from Friday afternoon until Monday evening. From what I understand it's not safe for people to even _try_ to go that long. Just staying awake for two straight days is more than most _adults_ can handle." _But then you do lots of things that most adults can't or won't, so I really shouldn't be shocked that you want to try this._

"I don't want to fall asleep," he said stubbornly, storm clouds and faint tears gathering in his gaze. "You _know_ why," his tone turned to begging.

_How can I hold not wanting horrifying nightmares to come back against him?_ "I do," he nodded. "But I seriously doubt you're going to be able to stay awake more than a few more hours."

"…The dream will come back," he looked away, lip quivering. "I just don't want it to come back."

"If you tell me about it, it might help," the Kryptonian suggested.

"I…I don't think it will, though. You just…I just don't think you'll understand the way Bruce will. Me, or the Joker," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry if that's mean, but it's how I feel."

"Sure," he nodded. "I don't have as much experience with either of the people involved as he does. What you say makes sense. But sometimes," he added, "just saying what happens in a dream out loud can help make it better. I don't even have to say anything, if you don't want me to; I could just sit and listen while you talk."

"…That really works?" he asked suspiciously.

"So I've been told. Doesn't it help when you tell Bruce or Alfred about a bad dream?"

"Yeah, but…" _I always thought it was because I was telling __them__, or my parents before that. Although I didn't have hardly any bad dreams when they were alive, so I don't really know how well it would have worked to tell them…_ "Okay," he conceded finally. "I'll tell you what happened in the dream."

Clark turned on the couch so that he was facing him more directly. "Go ahead," he encouraged. _J'onn mentioned his eyelids being cut out,_ he suppressed a shudder. _I hope it isn't __all__ like that…_

"…It starts right…right after I threw up on him," the boy began slowly. "But I didn't get away in the dream…" His hands twisted in his lap as he went through the lurid details, his drink forgotten on the table beside him. "And…and right after he peels my eyelids off, everything goes black. I guess I'm supposed to be dying there, I don't know. All I know is that when that happens the pain goes away."

He stared at him for a long second, then slid closer and wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders. _No wonder J'onn woke you up the second time around. _"…I'm sorry. I should have left the line and come with you. I didn't know, Dick. I wish I _had_ known."

"You couldn't have known," he replied. "You might have some pretty awesome powers, Uncle Clark, but they're still subject to interference. I know that. It's okay. I wish _I'd_ known he was in there, too. I wouldn't have felt nearly so bad about just throwing up on the floor in that case."

"…How did you know about the distortion factor?" The Kryptonian asked, a little taken aback.

"Well, you told me once before," he reminded. He leaned into his side, letting the man support his weight as the warm, heavy limb across his back caused his chills to subside. "When we were talking about your hearing down in the cave? Right after I got hurt trying to rescue Batman and Flash from Sawbones?"

"I remember that," he agreed. "…Batman told you the rest, though, didn't he?"

"He let me see your file a few weeks after that."

"…He has a file on _me_?" _I guess I shouldn't be surprised, this __is__ Batman we're talking about._

"He has files on everybody," Dick stared up at him as if he should have already known as much.

"Yes, but…we're his _allies_."

"I asked him about that."

"What did he say?" _If it's something like 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer,' I may have a heart attack._

"He said that if the day comes when your allies are suddenly your enemies, it pays to be prepared. Then he…he went into this long – well, long for him – thing about…about what I'm supposed to do if he's ever, you know…not himself. Like if he's mind controlled again or something."

"And what are you supposed to do?" he asked, both curious and disturbed.

"…I'm supposed to tell you, or whoever's highest in the JLA and _not_ under the same thing."

"That seems reasonable," he relaxed.

"Sure. But then he told me that after that I'm supposed to run as far away as I can. As me, not as Robin." He pouted. "And that's _not_ reasonable."

"He told you to do that because he doesn't want you in that kind of danger, pal," he explained, spotting the displeased look on his face. "Not because he thinks you can't handle it."

"I don't care about the danger," he scoffed. "He's my partner, I'm _not_ just going to run away when he needs my help. You'd have thought everything with Sawbones would have shown him that. I shouldn't have had to insist on it."

"…Maybe it _did _show him that. Maybe that's the problem," Clark mused. "He saw that you'd go through anything to get to him. And that was the first time that was really an issue, right? The first time he was captured since Robin was created?"

"Yeah. It was."

"…Dick, Sawyer could have killed you that night. He could have made Batman kill you, or Flash. If he'd gotten that serum into Kid Flash, he could have made _him_ kill you. He could have given you the serum and made you kill anyone he wanted."

"I know all of that. That isn't the _point_."

"It _is_ the point. He watched it all happen, and he couldn't do anything about it. He doesn't want to live that again, but more importantly, he doesn't want _you_ to live that again. Ever." He paused. "That's why he told you to run if it ever reoccurs."

"I'm _not_ going to run. I told him that, too. He wasn't happy, but what's he going to do?" His eyes glimmered. "He's going to be more careful, that's what. _That's_ the point."

"…What?"

"If he knows that I won't run away in a situation like that, he'll be more careful not to get into one again. At least that's what I figure."

_That's brilliantly devious. _"…Did you think about that before you told him you wouldn't run?" he asked, slack-jawed.

"Ah, no," he confessed. "I _wish_ I was that good. That's something he'd come up with, but I'm nowhere near his mind games level. I realized it after the fact. _Then_ I used it, sure, but…it wasn't calculated beforehand. It was just the truth." He shrugged. "I think people underestimate the power of the truth. Do you ever think that?"

"…Sometimes," he answered honestly, recovering a bit. "…And sometimes they overestimate it."

"…Like how?"

"Well, you can tell someone something that's true – not an opinion, but something really, factually, provably true – over and over again, but you can't _make_ them believe it, right? For instance, people see Superman fly, but if they don't believe that's possible, they could tell themselves it was a hallucination or come up with some other excuse."

"…Sure. They have to choose to accept the evidence."

"Right. But there are still people out there who, despite multiple failures, continue to insist that if they just show people the facts about something, they have to believe it, because it's _so obvious_. Like if you, knowing that Superman _can _fly, kept dragging some poor non-believer out to see, convinced that _this_ would be the time that really won them over."

"…You're right. It's like they think the truth is a…magic wand or something." He craned his neck and looked up at the man against whose side he still leaned. "I never thought of it that way before. But…" his forehead crinkled.

"But what?"

"If you have to choose to accept evidence or not accept it, and not everyone accepts the same…oh, never mind," he shook his head. "That's way too complicated to think about right now."

"'What is truth?' is an old, _old_ question, pal," Clark laughed. "Don't feel bad for not wanting to tangle with it. Nobody's figured out the answer that I'm aware of, so at least you'll always be in good company on that score." His lips twisted into an amused grin as he watched the boy continue to stare into the distance for a few seconds, obviously still playing with the inquiry. "…Any grand breakthroughs for the human race?" he teased.

"Maybe not for the human race, but I think for me," he announced proudly.

"Oh?"

"Yup." He pulled away long enough to retrieve his drink, then settled back against the man's side. "I've decided that for the next forty minutes I'm going to accept the evidence presented in this movie that talking animals exist."

"I think I can get behind that revelation."

"Do you have the mystical wand of power?"

"This thing?" he asked, holding up the remote.

"The button with the triangle sets the world in motion."

"…So if I push it, does that make me a deity?"

The boy grinned. "I doubt it. But pushing it _would_ make you a pretty cool uncle."

Clark pretended to consider that for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing his chin with his free hand. "Hmm…all right. I can live with that," he announced, hitting play.

"Good," Dick curled closer and sipped at his soda. "Me, too."


	18. Chapter 18

As the credits rolled, Clark glanced down to find the child fast asleep. "Yeah, that's about what I figured would happen," he sighed. "Good try though, pal." Removing the almost-empty glass from his fingers, he laid him down, covered him with a blanket, and swiped more of J'onn's bruise reducer across his face. _Please don't have any bad dreams,_ he thought, retreating to a chair with his computer. _You need the rest, and quite frankly I don't know what I'm going to do if you keep this up. You __can't__ stay awake until Monday evening, I know that much._

Six hours passed. Dick was restless at several points, but he never seemed to have an actual nightmare, and since he remained asleep the Kryptonian supposed that it counted as a victory. Knowing that Bruce was likely to check the Gotham news despite being on another continent, he kept an eye on the websites of all the local television affiliates and papers. The strange circumstances under which the Joker had been apprehended that morning had been banner headline-worthy earlier in the day, but a hike in violence around the world plus the usual batch of reports on the economy, political tension at home and abroad, and which celebrity was next in the rehab/rebirth/reboot cycle had pushed it well down the list by early evening. _If he doesn't get a chance to check until after whatever activity they drag him out to tonight,_ he considered, _he may not even see anything about it. By tomorrow morning it will have been shuttled into the archives. The biggest threat now is that someone will do a follow-up story, or the police will announce something new about today's escape. Or,_ he supposed, _that he gets out again. But I'll deal with that if it happens._

Checking the weather report for the next couple of days, he noted that snow was being called for overnight. _I should put the car away,_ he realized, remembering that he'd left it sitting in front of the manor in his haste to get the then-unconscious boy to Mount Justice. _I'll be quick. I don't want him to wake up alone and think I've left him, too._ He zipped through the house and out to the vehicle only to find that the forecast was more current than he'd anticipated. Sighing, he brushed an inch of heavy, wet snow off of the windshield before climbing in. _Maybe if this keeps up and then sticks around tomorrow I can coax him outside for a snowball fight, or to make a snowman or something. Anything to keep him from dwelling on how much time still has to pass before he gets to see Bruce._

He replaced the auto where he'd found it, hung up the key, and was kicking off his shoes in the foyer when he picked up a little sob from the den. _Of course you woke up in the five minutes I was gone,_ he cursed silently, hustling into the room and kneeling in front of the quietly crying child. "I just had to put the car away, pal, I'm sorry you woke up alone…"

"It…it wasn't that," he shook his head, face still buried against his knees. "I had the dream again."

"…Oh." _I don't know what else to do,_ he floundered. _You have to sleep, but I'm pretty hard pressed to convince you to try if you keep having nightmares…_ "The exact same one?"

"…Yes and no."

"What was different?" he asked, moving up onto the couch beside him.

"Bruce was there," he revealed. "But he couldn't…he couldn't do anything."

_He wasn't hacked up like the janitor, was he?_ he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"…The Joker wanted him to watch. He _made_ him watch. And he…he did some new stuff, too. To me."

_So it was __worse__ than before. Great._ "What, ah…what did he do that he didn't do before?"

"…I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" he begged, lip caught between his teeth. "Maybe…maybe later, but not right now."

_Too recent. Okay._ "Sure, pal," he patted his knee. "Whenever you're ready." _At least he got six hours in this time. That's a lot more than he's been managing_.

"Do you think-" He was interrupted by Clark's cell phone. "I'm not ready to talk to him again," he said quickly. _I'll give it away right now, I know I will. I can't give it away. Not until I can tell him in person…_

"…It's not him, I don't think. I don't know who this is," he frowned. "Hello?"

"Hello? This is Dr. Leslie Thompkins."

"Oh! Yes, hello," he greeted. "It's Dr. Thompkins," he whispered to Dick. "Thanks for calling back."

"I'm sorry it took so long," she apologized. "We're still very busy with new flu cases. How's Dick?"

"Not a problem. He's fine."

"No dehydration issues?"

He hesitated."…There were, but they've been fixed now. He's right here next to me."

"May I speak with him?"

"Sure." He held out the phone. "She wants to talk to you."

"Okay," he nodded. "Hi, Leslie."

"Hi, honey. Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"…No problems?" she reiterated. _I can't imagine that Bruce would have left you with someone he didn't trust absolutely, especially when you're sick, but it doesn't hurt to ask._

"No. Everything's fine. We're just watching movies. And yes, I've stopped throwing up and I'm drinking stuff."

"What kind of 'stuff?'" she asked, smiling slightly at his anticipation of her question.

"Pedialyte and ginger ale."

"…Well, okay then. Have you eaten?" _I don't want to have to report to CPS that you're underweight again. I know it isn't from lack of trying, but your next check-up is only two weeks away, and this flu won't help your numbers any. I'd lie if I could, but if they found out it would be more than just my license at risk…_

"I had a bunch of crackers. But I _am_ kind of hungry. I just woke up, though. I'll eat something, I promise."

"Something _healthy_, Dick. I know Alfred's not there to cook for you, but you need good food, okay? _Not_ pizza." _Even if that __is__ what Bruce was probably feeding you before he left,_ she didn't add. "Start out easy. Toast, applesauce, things like that. Nothing spicy, and _no_ dairy until tomorrow, at least. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

"Are you going to the bathroom regularly?"

"Um…yeah," he blushed. _What is it with people and my bathroom habits today? First Martian Manhunter, and now Leslie._ "…Why?"

"Because when you get dehydrated or sick to the level you were your kidneys can shut down. If they do and then you overload them with fluids it can send you into shock. Keep drinking your Pedialyte and soda, but don't chug it. You don't want to end up in the hospital."

"No. I don't. Although I guess that would be one way to get Bruce back here before Monday…" he thought idly.

"Don't you _dare_, young man," she threatened. "…Wait, _Monday_?"

"…Yeah…" he whispered. "It's Monday night now. Three more whole days."

_Oh, you poor thing. _"Well, if things calm down before then I'll come see you this weekend."

_Crap, if she sees my face she'll call Bruce. I know she will._ "It's okay, I know you're super busy too. You've got to help all the other sick kids. I've got Clark-" he carefully refrained from attaching a familial label to the name "-here to take care of me. But…maybe next weekend you could come over? We're going to do something for my birthday."

"You know I'll be there if I possibly can," she promised. "Just have Alfred call me with the details…I have to go. But you drink like I told you to, do you hear me?"

"Yes. I will. I don't want to go to the hospital, they always ask too many questions."

_Well, I wonder who he could possibly have gotten that idea from,_ she shook her head sarcastically. "Bye, honey. You tell Clark to call me back if he has any questions, okay?"

"I will. Bye, Leslie."

"…Hungry, huh?" The Kryptonian asked as he handed the phone back.

"Yeah. I am."

"…I have to admit, Dick, I'm about as good of a cook as Bruce is. Not needing to eat does that to a person. But if you feel up for going out, I'm sure we can find someplace to get something."

"I _really_ don't want to go out again," he answered quickly. "I mean, thanks, but…well, the last time we went out we ran into the Joker. And I know the odds of that ever happening again are stupid low, but I'd still rather just stay here."

"Okay, ordering in, then. What delivers up here, do you know?"

"Pizza and I think maybe Chinese. But Leslie said no pizza, and I don't think she'd be very happy if she knew I had Szechuan for my first meal since Wednesday."

"Your stomach might not agree, either," Clark pointed out. "…Szechuan? You _like_ that?"

"We had a contortionist from Chengdu who travelled with the circus for a couple of years, back when we were touring Europe," he explained. "He and my dad got to be pretty good friends, and he taught mom some really crazy moves. He showed me a couple, too, but he said I was too young for the good ones because my bones were still developing." He paused, pouting slightly at that memory. "Anyway, he made us _so many_ good dinners…he had relatives back in China who would send him special peppers, and he would come running over first thing whenever he got a package, just to show us…so, yeah. I like Szechuan. Takeout's not nearly as amazing as what he made, but…it's still pretty good. I wonder what he's doing now? He had to go home to take care of his mother, but that was a while ago."

"I'll bet we both know a certain person who could find him, if you wanted." A soft smile had come across his face as he'd listened to the boy describe one tiny fold in the huge life he'd already led. _Go on,_ he wanted to say. _Tell me more. It's fascinating._ At the same time, he didn't want to pry; it was better to let him share the past at his own rate, and freely.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. Then his expression sobered. "But…I'd have to tell him about my parents. And…and I don't want to do that. If he doesn't know, then he can keep believing that they're alive somewhere, and performing, and talking about his cooking….no, it's better that he doesn't know about it. It would just make him sad."

"That doesn't do much for you, though," Clark said gently. _Think about yourself every once in a while, would you? You're too generous. That's a good way to get yourself killed in our business, Dick, and that __cannot__ happen. A lot of people have gotten very attached to you over the past year, myself included. Even setting everyone else aside, losing you would outright kill Bruce. That's not a question, it's a fact._

"…Actually, it kind of does. It lets me imagine that he's happy somewhere, imagining _them_ happy somewhere else." _When I think about it that way, it's almost like they aren't really dead. _He was quiet for a second. "…Leslie said I should have boring stuff like toast and applesauce," he confessed finally.

"…_Those_ I can manage. Should we go see what we can find in the kitchen?"

"Sure." He was about to slither off of the couch, then changed his mind and leaned forward until he tumbled onto the floor. "Ew. That shouldn't have made me dizzy," he opined from the rug, having failed to pop to his feet like normal when the world had begun spinning partway through his roll.

"You okay down there?"

"Yeah. That was weird, though."

"You're tired and hungry, and still a little bit sick. It's probably nothing to worry about." _I hope,_ he added mentally. "Applesauce would be in the fridge, right?"

"I think so. Could I have cinnamon on it?"

"Sure. I'll go get it. Do you want to watch the next movie?"

"Umm…" The third film in the Madagascar franchise was by far his favorite, but he wondered if he could handle it right now. _I cry when I watch it __normally__,_ he considered, _and that's with Bruce here._ _But it's also the one movie that's practically guaranteed to keep me awake, so… _"We can, but…I might have to stop it. Is that okay?"

"Whatever you need, pal." The child's obvious hesitation mixed with his earlier suspicions that there was something special about that particular movie to make him even more eager to get started. _I should have Googled it earlier,_ he sighed. _A plot synopsis might have given me a clue as to what I'm getting myself into… _

Five minutes later, Dick was equipped with toast, cinnamon applesauce – Alfred, knowing his younger charge's tastes, kept a jar on hand that already had the spice mixed in – and a refilled glass of soda spiked with electrolytes. "So…I think I should warn you that I'm probably going to cry."

"Okay…can I ask why?"

He chewed silently, then swallowed. "…They join a circus."

A rock landed in Clark's stomach. _Well, there's that reason I was looking for,_ he thought drily. "Are…are you _sure_ you want to watch it, pal? It's all right if we don't."

"It's my favorite movie," he explained. "I just…tend to cry when I watch it, is all. I didn't want you to be surprised. And that's why I might have to turn it off. It might be too much right now. I don't know."

"Dick, I don't want to watch something that's going to upset you."

"Just because I cry doesn't mean they're all sad tears, Uncle Clark," he said softly. "I'm always happy at the end. It's the in-between parts that, you know, get to me."

"…You _really_ want to watch something that's going to make you cry?" he asked, confused. _Haven't you had enough crying today?_

"Yeah. I do. It's also really funny, so I laugh, too. I know you'll like it."

"Well…okay. But I don't want you to hesitate to tell me if you want to stop, all right?" _I feel kind of awful doing this, but if he wants to…_

"I know. And I will. Also, I'm sorry in advance."

"Huh?"

"I'm probably going to get your shirt wet. I always end up crying on Bruce," he admitted. "…Do you mind? I can get a box of tissues if you do."

"I don't mind," he answered kindly, shaking his head. "Here," he handed over the remote. "Take the mystical wand of power so that you can start and stop it whenever you need to."

"Thanks," he grasped it. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he hit play.

By the time the circus came into the story, Clark had almost forgotten about the warning he'd been given. Then the leopardess opened her mouth, and he felt the child slide over against him. "…Okay?" he whispered downwards. He replied with a nod, his eyes never leaving the screen. _I guess I know who he meant when he said earlier that his favorite character was in this one._

As the story continued, it didn't take Batman-level detection skills to figure out _why_ she filled Dick's gaze with sad longing. _She does trapeze,_ the Kryptonian winced. _And she's loyal, and kind, and everyone seems to like her, and…and I'll bet you got your professional-level charm from your mother, didn't you, pal?_ His arm squeezed the boy gently as he realized. _And this just came out last summer, I think, which means you probably watched it for the first time just a few months after she died. How can you __stand__ this? How can Bruce stand to watch you watch it?_

His attention remained more on the small form whose tears did, in fact, begin soaking through to his skin than it did on the action. As the film moved into its grand finale, however, the boy calmed, seeming to straighten as if in anticipation. Returning his eyes to the television, Clark quickly learned what he was waiting for, his eyebrows going up in disbelief as two big cats somehow made aerial acrobatics look easy. _Is that the kind of stuff he used to do?_ he boggled. _Hell, it's no wonder he's so good in a fight, if he came to Bruce with moves like that…_ Even taking into consideration that they were watching a movie that relied heavily on suspension of disbelief, he was impressed by the implications for the boy beside him.

When credits rolled a few minutes later, they were quickly muted, and the pair sat in silence. "I've never seen people doing trapeze in real life…Were they that good?" he ventured, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing to say.

"No," Dick shook his head, an angelic little smile on his lips as he raised wet eyes. "They were even better." He paused. "And Gia…"

"…Gia? Oh, the leopardess. Sorry, go on," he encouraged.

"Right. She's…she just reminds me of mom," he shrugged, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "Alex isn't like dad or anything, but Gia…take away the accent and make her human, and that was mom."

"I kind of thought that might be the case." His hand ran comfortingly up and down the child's narrow back a couple of times. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he said sincerely. "You were right. I really do like it."

"I'm glad. Thanks for watching it with me even though I cried a whole bunch," he laughed slightly.

"It's okay. Really, it is."

He wiped gingerly at his discolored cheeks, nodding. "…What time is it, anyway?"

"About nine," Clark answered after a swift look at his watch. "Why, are you tired?"

"…Yeah," he responded in a tone so grudging that he almost sounded like his guardian. "But I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want to spoil the good feelings from the movie with…_him._"

"Maybe the good thoughts will keep the dream from happening," the Kryptonian suggested.

"Eh. Maybe." Neither spoke. "…I have an idea," the child announced suddenly.

"What's that?"

"I think if I sleep in Bruce's room, that might be enough."

"…Really? That's an awfully simple solution."

"Yeah, but think about it; the Joker's crazy, but I don't think even he would dare to come around _Batman's_ bed."

He couldn't bite back a chuckle. "You might be onto something there. If you think it will help, I'd say go for it."

"There's…there's one other thing," he added.

"Hmm?"

"Would you tuck me in? I sleep better when someone tucks me in," he looked away abashedly. "I know it's a baby thing, and normally I wouldn't ask, but…"

"Hey, I'd want tucked in if I'd been in your place this morning. Come on," he stood up. "Lead the way."

A short while later Dick was well-ensconced under Bruce's plush comforters, eyes already half-closed as Clark stood in the doorway with one hand on the lightswitch. "Thanks, Uncle Clark…"

"Sure. I'll be right down the hall if you need me." There was no way he was going back downstairs and leaving him, not when he'd been assigned a perfectly good space just a few doors away.

"Okay…"

"…Sweet dreams, pal." _Please, __please__ have sweet dreams._


	19. Chapter 19

Bruce managed to get a small amount of sleep directly after his last conversation with Clark, but it was disturbed by vague, half-forgotten images of pain and torture. Pasting on a smile that couldn't manage to make it to his eyes, he joined Durant and several other of the bank's higher-ups, excluding Schulte, for dinner at De Karmeliet. Not even three Michelin stars could manage to shake him out of the funk that his earlier talk with Dick had left him in, however; as stellar as the food was, he couldn't help but imagine how his surprisingly worldly-palated son would react to the menu. _I should take him out to more fancy places,_ he reflected. _He'll most likely have to come to meals like this when he's older, and a little practice won't hurt. Besides, he'd probably love it...and he's so damn cute in dress clothes._

A few members of the party suggested drinks after their plates were empty, and he agreed to go along for the sake of politeness. He was mildly surprised when they entered a well-appointed and quiet private club rather than a skin joint or a booze-reeking club, the type of venue that his peers back home generally assumed a well-known playboy would prefer. "Is this an acceptable location, Mr. Wayne?" Durant leaned over to ask, seeing his expression. "If it isn't, I'm sure we can-"

"No, no," Bruce cut him off. "…This is very good. Thank you." _Thank you for not dragging me to some strip bar that tries to come off as respectable by having the shows in so-called 'discreet' rooms or giving itself a French name despite being done in 'Old West Bordello' decor. _He'd relaxed incrementally as they occupied deep leather chairs that wrapped around him just like the ones in the den at the manor did. A liveried server appeared instantly at his elbow, seeming to have come out of nowhere. _Must have been trained the same place as Alfred,_ he smirked as he ordered a cognac. _…I should find a place like this in Gotham. Not necessarily for right now, but for when kiddo's old enough to come with me. It would be nice to be an established member before that point, kind of pave the way for him…_

In this more intimate atmosphere, business concerns were set aside. The bankers had known one another for years, and Bruce settled back and sipped at his drink as he listened to them talk about their summer plans, a niece's birthday, and various personal matters. The eminently smooth liquor knitted a few of his frayed nerves, and he gave out his stock answers easily whenever a question was batted his way. _How can I make this weekend up to Dick?_ he pondered all the while, keeping one ear tuned to the conversation while his mind searched out solutions to his primary problem at the moment. _I was going to save the motorcycle for Robin until the end of the school year, but maybe…no, I'm not finished with it yet. I want it to be perfect before I give it to him. Besides, he's already getting Robin gear for his birthday, and I don't want that to be overshadowed by the bike._

By the time they all deemed that the evening had been well passed and he was dropped off at his hotel, he was no closer to an answer. _Well, hell, I guess I'll just have to ask him what he wants, or wants to do. I don't even care what it is, so long as it makes him happy,_ he thought firmly as he rode up to his suite. Pleasantly warm from his drinks and forced to admit his advanced tiredness to himself, he plopped down on the bed and closed his eyes, falling into a deep but unfulfilling sleep that only his alarm clock jerked him out of.

_I doubt kiddo's up, but I'll call anyway,_ he decided after a long shower, dialing Clark's number as he calculated the time in Gotham. _I have no idea when I'll get a chance to try again today. That itinerary Durant gave me was __packed__, and I've got dinner with Schulte this evening…_

"…He's asleep, isn't he?" he asked as soon as Clark picked up the phone.

"For about four hours now."

A heavy sigh escaped him. "All right," he gave in. _I wish I could talk to you, Dicky._ He'd saved the voice message from the day before, but listening to the pitiful tone underlining every syllable only made him feel worse. "How's he doing?"

"Better. He spoke with Dr. Thompkins, he ate some actual food, and he managed to stay awake through an entire movie."

"Good," he rubbed his eyes. "So no more tears?"

"Not about your delay, no."

"…Then what the hell _was_ he crying about?" he demanded, glaring at his empty hotel room.

_Oops. _"Ah…the movie."

_The movie? _"…Oh, Christ, Clark, tell me you didn't watch the third Madagascar." _Anything but that._

"We did," he replied evenly to the groan in the other man's voice. "At his insistence. He told me it makes him cry and I told him we didn't have to watch it, but he wanted to. He was okay by the time it ended."

_Was he __really__ okay, or did he just tell you he was?_ Bruce thought skeptically. "Have you checked on him since he went to sleep?"

"No. I'm right down the hall though, I'll hear him if he needs anything. Why?"

"Every time he watches that movie he ends up crawling into bed with me later. The story makes him happy for a little while, and then it seems to just leave him feeling lonely and needing comforted." _Why am I not at home right now?_ he cursed himself. _He's going to wake up and want to be held, and I'm not there to do it. Why did you have to pick __that__ movie, chum? You know what it does to you._

_I wish he'd told me that part when he mentioned everything else,_ the Kryptonian closed his eyes, grimacing. He didn't mind potentially having to soothe him, but the last thing the boy needed given his already overwrought state were _more_ intense emotions. "Well, he's in your bed, so that might help. I didn't figure you'd mind."

"I don't. He can sleep there every night while I'm gone if he wants." _…Maybe that will be enough to keep him from waking up upset,_ he thought hopefully_. Scent memory, or something. _

"So…how's Bruges?" Clark inquired after a short pause. What he meant was 'how are _you_?' but he knew Bruce well enough to avoid such a direct query into his well-being if he wanted an honest answer.

"I've seen enough. I should be on a plane right now, on my way back to him, but I'm not. And I hate that, especially now that he's better. He got better without me…"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have wanted him to be sick until Monday."

"I know, it's just…I can't explain it, Clark. I want him to be better, of course I do, but…I wanted to be the one to make him that way."

"Bruce, he already thinks of you as his father, and as his hero. What more do you want him to view you as?"

"…I don't know," he confessed. "I suppose when it comes down to it, I don't like the thought of him needing or wanting to turn to anyone but me. And Alfred," he added.

"Well with that attitude, it's no wonder you're a billionaire."

"That wasn't greedy."

"Um, yeah, Bruce, it was. It was _incredibly_ greedy, to be exact. You can't be everything to him, all of the time, for the rest of his life. I know your jealousy is just a side effect of how much you love him, but you've got to realize that you'll only be hurting him in the long run if you don't get over the fact that there are going to be other people in his life whom he cares about, and who care about him."

"I know that, but…"

"But he's 'yours.'"

"…Yeah," he sighed. "…I need to get off the phone. There are about eight places I'm being dragged to today."

"If they didn't drag you out of the room, Bruce, you'd just sit there and stew all day."

"No, I'd be on a goddamn airplane back to Gotham," he corrected. "They're the ones keeping me here with all of this…bullshit," he muttered, pulling on a sock with one hand.

"Point taken. I don't know…look for something to bring him, maybe. A present."

"Yes, Clark, I'm sure I'll find lots of fun things for him while I'm touring city hall and having lunch with the mayor," he rolled his eyes.

"Just trying to help."

"…I know. It's…it's not a bad idea." He paused. "…Thanks."

The Kryptonian started. _Haven't heard that one in a while. _"…Look, I'll ask him if he wants to call when he wakes up, okay?"

"Yeah. Just…have him leave a message if I don't answer, okay?"

"I will. Talk to you later, Bruce."

Three hours passed. When checking the news from around the world in order to stay up on potential problems for the JLA to deal with became tedious and repetitive, he searched for something less depressing to amuse himself with. _Watched it. Read it. Watched it __and__ read it,_ he sighed, clicking through result after result. The problem with not requiring sleep the way humans did, he reflected, was that there was so much more time to fill when you were bored. Nights like this dragged on interminably, and he wondered how some people could live their entire lives on the internet.

An idea that was sure to hold his interest formed suddenly behind his eyes. He'd have to turn the volume all the way down – _god forbid he walk in and catch me watching __that__ – _but it would certainly keep his attention. Lips tight, he checked on the boy aurally, found him still fast asleep, and let his hands hover over the keyboard. Finally deciding that it wasn't really spying if he was watching something that had been a public performance when it was filmed, he typed out two words. _Flying Graysons. That's what Bruce said they were called…_

And there they were, a long list of videos of the acrobat family, posted from shows on three continents. _Well-travelled little sprite, aren't you, pal?_ he smiled. Deciding to start as far back as he could, he double clicked on one billed as 'Crazy Trapeze – With An Effing Baby!' and sat back in his chair.

The title wasn't exaggerating in the least. The elder Graysons were introduced in both Italian and English by the announcer, and as the camera zoomed in on the woman – _Mary,_ he verified what he'd thought he remembered – standing high above the crowd, it became obvious that she had a wriggling bundle strapped tightly to her chest. _…She's kidding, right? She's not really going to-_

She jumped.

He gaped as the parents went through an elaborate act. At one point the announcer broke back in to explain that the young mother's performance was simplified tonight in order to prevent potential injury to her child, but that merely made him more impressed. _It gets fancier? You weren't kidding that they were amazing, Dick…_

No two videos were the same, and he couldn't get enough. The moves never grew stale, and it was endearing to watch the boy grow from waving from the back of an elephant, to tumbling and diving from the trapeze platform into the net below, to doing full performances alongside his parents. There were only a few of those, and as he glanced at the date on the last one he realized why. _He only started doing the complete shows with them a few weeks before they died. Which means he was probably supposed to have been in the air that night, too._ Bruce had given him the skeleton of the story, but had never mentioned that the then eight-year-old had come so close to the same fate as his parents. _Bruce…I wonder if he's ever watched these?_ _He probably has, for research if nothing else, but…I'll bet he hasn't watched them in __order__._

Grinning slightly at his own brilliance, he dug a thumb drive out of his bag and began saving the film clips to it, ensuring that the chronology was kept intact. He was just finishing up when there was a slight creak in the hallway. _Seven o'clock,_ he noted the time. _Ten hours without a nightmare. _"…Dick?" he called out.

Shuffling footsteps approached his doorway. "…Hi," the boy whispered, stopping on the threshold.

"You can come in," he invited, slipping the storage device into his pocket and closing his computer. "How'd you sleep?"

"I didn't have any bad dreams, at least I don't think I did," he confided. He _had_ woken up several times, but there had been no glaring terror to explain why in any of those instances. Lacking that, he'd simply buried his head back into Bruce's pillow and closed his eyes. "…What'd you do all night?"

"Some work, some play," he replied, standing up and stretching. "…Would you like to call Bruce? I told him I would ask you that when you woke up."

"You talked to him? Does he suspect anything? You know he's going to check the news," he warned.

"I've been watching the websites. It's off the home pages for most of them, so unless he's going through the archives, he won't see it. And it doesn't sound like those bankers are giving him much time to himself to just putter around online, so…"

"…I can't believe he didn't figure it out from when I talked to him."

"Well, I told him you were just really upset, and you were certainly that. Plus, I'm sure he really _wants_ there to be nothing wrong, so that could be tainting his judgment. The important thing is that we've managed to pull the wool over his eyes."

"Wow…we're fooling _Batman_. That's crazy." He shook his head. "I don't like it, though."

"Me, either. But I think we both agree that we have good reasons for doing so."

"Yeah. But it still sucks." He paused. "…I'm hungry."

"Toast and applesauce work?"

"…Do you think you can manage pancakes? I know where Bruce keeps a box of mix hidden from Alfred."

"Wait, he's capable of making pancakes? He never told me that."

"He can make them, they just…aren't very good," Dick let him in on a secret. "He follows the directions exactly, but they're always burned on the edges and raw in the middle. I don't know how he does it. Maybe he follows the directions _too_ perfectly…"

"Should we go find out if I'm any better? I've never tried to make pancakes, but they can't turn out any worse than Bruce's sound."

Thirty minutes later, they learned that Clark wasn't a half-bad breakfast cook. "…This is pretty good, actually," the child said after his first bite. The Vermeeresque morning light falling through the kitchen window hit his face perfectly, spotlighting a streak of dried batter left on his cheek during their spoon-sword fight without revealing the now-yellowing bruise beneath it. Laughing at him – _a food connoisseur in the making,_ he thought amusedly, _and with Alfred's meals as his basis for comparison, nobody's cuisine is safe –_ the Kryptonian leaned over and wiped the smudge away. "Ow."

"Sorry," he winced as his thumb brushed the top of the mottled skin. "Remind me to put more of Jonn's cream on those after you eat."

"Okay." He pushed his plate towards him. "Want a bite? You did all the work, you should at least taste them."

"Sure." He chewed slowly. "Huh. So I _can_ cook, after all."

"Way better than Bruce," was nodded gravely, shoveling another forkful into his mouth. "…Don't tell him I said that."

"He doesn't really think that what you described him making is _good_, does he?"

"No, but…it's probably a bad idea for him to have another reason to be jealous of you."

"Very true. He just got over it, why push him back into it over pancakes."

"The Battle of Breakfast…do you really think he's over it?"

"Let's make sure that battle never takes place. And he's as 'over it' as I think he'll ever get. We had a good talk earlier."

"Good. He needed to stop being a jerk."

"…I wouldn't let him hear you say _that_, either."

"Oh, it's okay. I've been telling him to be nicer to you. I'm just glad he finally started listening." Neither spoke again for several minutes, Clark rising to clean up the kitchen while Dick finished his meal. The boy gasped suddenly, causing his caretaker to spin around.

"What?"

"I'll bet poor Gobblehead's completely out of food!"

"…What?"

"I've got to go check on him!" His eyes were wide as he jumped down from his chair and bolted for the door to the foyer.

"_What?!_" He followed him into the entryway to find him hastily shoving his feet into his boots. "I don't know what you're talking about, pal. Why are you going outside?"

"I told you, I have to check on Gobblehead!" he said frantically.

"…Who or what is a Gobblehead?"

Dick froze and looked up at him. "…Bruce didn't tell you about Gobblehead?"

"No, I think I'd remember a name like that."

"Gobbles is our turkey."

The Kryptonian blinked at him. "There's…there's a _turkey_ at Wayne Manor?"

"Yeah!" the child beamed. "He was supposed to be our Thanksgiving dinner, but he was too smart and nice to eat, so instead he lives out in the back yard in his turkey shed. Alfred said we'll get him a better one come spring, when they can lay cement for the floor."

"Bruce…Bruce _Wayne_…has a pet _turkey_," he repeated, needing verification.

"Well, technically he's my pet, but I know Bruce likes him too, even if he never says it. You should come meet him!" He jumped over the pile of gear he'd managed to drag out on the floor and gripped the man's hand in both of his own. "C'mon, he'll like you, Uncle Clark!"

"Ah…okay," he shrugged. _What the hell, it's not like I'm going to be able to believe him entirely if I don't go see this bird, and quite frankly it's nice to just see him acting like himself again, so…_ "Let's go meet Gobblehead."


	20. Chapter 20

The mayor was very nice, and Bruce had to admit that Bruges was a beautiful place, but not even the hectic schedule that Durant had put together for him could distract him from the one thing that was missing. _Dick would love some of these buildings. The parks…_ he thought, catching a glimpse of children playing as the car turned a corner. _He's been studying French, he would have an opportunity to practice it if he were here. And if Batman and Robin could run these rooftops together…_ His mouth quirked upwards. The boy would adore leaping across the irregular streets, there was no doubt in his mind. Gotham's grid layout made it easy to navigate, but the fun level was much higher in cities like this. _Someday, when he's old enough for full JLA missions, maybe something will come up for us in an old town…god, he'd never be able to keep his giggles contained…_

There was no chance for him to attempt to call home for many hours, and his phone didn't ring of its own accord, either. _Is he still sleeping?_ he wondered every time he glanced at his watch. _Or did he wake up and just not __want__ to call me? I know Clark said he isn't mad at me, but…how can he __not__ be angry? I'd be infuriated…_

Around three there was finally a brief moment in which he was alone in the car, and he wasted none of it. _Pick up, he's got to be awake by now, surely…_ There was no answer, however, and a new seed of worry blossomed in his stomach. _Why wouldn't someone answer? Maybe he's sick again. God, I hope he's not sick again, he's been sick enough, poor baby…_ As much as he wanted to be the one to make the boy feel better, now that he was well he certainly didn't wish for him to be ill again. _He'll call back. As soon as Clark sees the missed call, he'll call back,_ he tried to assure himself.

Thinking the Kryptonian's name brought what had been said that morning back to the forefront of his brain. '_Your jealousy is just a side effect of how much you love him,' _he repeated to himself. _So I'm supposed to get over my greediness about him, huh? I notice that there weren't any suggestions forthcoming about how exactly I'm supposed to __do__ that._ But then, he reflected, Clark probably wasn't the best choice for advice on that subject, having even less experience with it than Bruce did.

Despite his sarcasm, he knew that the other man had made an important point. What Clark didn't understand, however, was that he'd never thought he would have someone to cherish the way he did Dick. His life was all false pretense for the cameras and dark rage for the denizens of the night, and he'd made the logical assumption that the dichotomy he'd chosen would prevent him ever having children, or even a steady romantic attachment. Having somehow achieved the seemingly impossible, however, the floodgates had opened, and now he seriously doubted that he could get them shut again. _When he finds someone, or something, else that begins to take away from the time he wants to spend with me, am I going to be able to handle it? Not that I have a whole lot of choice in the matter – he's going to grow up, and as obedient of a child as he is, he has a strong will – but __how__ do I deal with that? It's a complete mystery, and I feel totally incapable of solving it… _

The problem was still occupying him when he was delivered to Schulte's home at seven that evening. The door was opened by an extremely elderly but impeccably dressed maid who ushered him inside and took his coat just as the bank president descended the stairs.

"Ah, right on time, Mr. Wayne," he smiled, extending his hand as he came forward. "I'm very happy that you agreed to dinner. I've been looking forward to having Javier fix me steak from his homeland since I hired him, but it's difficult to find someone to dine with who appreciates the nuances of a truly fine cut of beef."

Bruce couldn't argue about his reputation in social circles as a man who was experienced with steak. It was one of the very few aspects of his most basic character that he allowed to be seen in society; after all, _something_ had to make the charity dinners that far too frequently stole from Batman time tolerable. With an eye towards minimizing his own pain at such affairs, he had made it a point early in his philanthropic career to let it be known that he could best be plied with well-cooked cow. "It's my pleasure, Mr. Schulte."

"Please," he insisted, "we are no longer within hearing of those we must keep our masks on for. Amongst ourselves, I hope you will call me Felix."

_Well, that doesn't really leave me with an option, now does it?_ "…Felix," the billionaire nodded. "Feel free to refer to me by my given name, as well."

"Thank you, Bruce. I am honored." A small voice echoed down the stairwell unexpectedly. "…My apologies," the older man chuckled. "Do you mind if I attend to something upstairs very briefly?"

"Not at all," he answered. _That was definitely a child, but…he seems a little advanced in age to have one so young._

"Kristina!" The maid returned. "Kristina will see you into the study and supply you with anything you'd like to drink. I'll be back down very shortly." Issuing a few words in German, he turned and made his way upstairs.

"This way, please," she addressed the billionaire, her pronunciation heavily accented. He followed her down a hall and into a large room not unlike the club he'd been taken to the night before. "A drink?"

"Cognac," he requested, drawn to the window. The house sat at the very end of a canal, and the view enchanted him as moonlight reflected off of the water to illuminate antique houses. _It is beautiful,_ he sighed. _Arguably more attractive than anything we have in the middle of Gotham._ His beverage appeared, and he took it with a grateful nod to the wizened serving woman. _I wonder how long he'll be? Maybe I have time to try and call home again…_

As he was debating how rude it would seem if his host were to return and find him on his cell phone, Schulte reappeared. "My apologies again," he shook his head with a little grin. "My granddaughter was being put to bed, and she never goes happily unless I'm the one to tuck her in. I thought we had concluded just before your arrival, but she had something else she wanted to tell me." He glanced over as he poured himself a glass to match Bruce's. "…You look a bit surprised by that," he commented.

"I was just…it's nothing," he brushed off. _That sounds like Dick and I. It's not the same for either of us if Alfred is the last one to wish him goodnight…_

"You were thinking of your own child, perhaps?" the banker ventured.

He physically started before remembering that his taking the boy in had been all that the tabloids and a fair chunk of the respectable media could talk about for several weeks. _And even if he wasn't aware of the basics before, his company would have checked me out before agreeing to a deal. It was a passing comment, that's all. _ "…I was," he admitted finally.

"A similar ritual?"

"…Yes."

He made a knowing sound. "My son was the same way, when he was young," he disclosed quietly. "He had her demanding tone. And she has his eyes."

Something in his voice, a wounded note that someone who wasn't accustomed to listening for the things people tried to hide wouldn't have picked up on, alerted Bruce to the fact that there was much more to the story. As curious as he was, though, asking would not only be a faux pas at this stage, it would also mean opening himself up to answering similar personal questions. _And that's not something I can do. It's bad enough __thinking__ about what my being here means, let alone having to talk about anything related to it, _he thought firmly. _And he seems like the kind of person who will see right through stock answers. He's already pegged me on a couple of things, after all. _Strangely, he didn't mind that fact as much as he usually would have. Something about this new business contact was comforting, and almost familiar. _I'm going to have to watch myself tonight,_ he determined, sipping his drink.

"It is a lovely sight, isn't it?" Schulte inquired, moving up beside him at the window.

"It is. I'm jealous. Parklands and trees only go so far."

"I find such things soothing," the older man laughed. "I suppose it's as they say…what is it…'the grass is always greener?'"

"Yeah, they do say that."

"But there is something special about the views chosen by one's ancestors, isn't there?" he asked, leaning against the corner of the casement with one arm stretched up along it, his hand gesturing as he spoke. "This house was purchased by my great-grandfather, specifically because of this very outlook. He, and my grandfather and father after him, would spend entire days in this room, balancing their account books and watching the light change on the water." His wrist flicked to indicate the surrounding houses. "Many of these buildings have had multiple owners since then. Most of them, in fact. But not this one." He tapped the frame. "This is the Schulte family home. I can only hope that Priscilla will keep it, and pass it to her children."

"…And you?"

"Me?"

"Do you balance your account books and stare outside?" His lip quirked upwards slightly. _It's a joke. Please take it as one,_ he begged mentally.

"No," was chuckled back. "I always preferred my office for such things. Ah, I see now. A little cognac and a pleasant vista, that is what it takes to make you loosen up a little." He shook his head. "…You are certainly not what I expected, Bruce Wayne."

He shot him a veiled look. "…So what _were_ you expecting?"

"What you've managed to get everyone to suspect, I suppose. A billionaire playboy with little but air and flirtation in his head, redeemed only by the good works he funds with his mysterious knack for knowing which risks are the right ones to take when." A drop of brandy passed his lips. "But you are very much not that which you have projected."

"I'm both flattered and annoyed," he raised an eyebrow. "You're good, Felix. Very good. I have to give you that."

"…The firm was floundering when I was brought in. They had no idea what a good risk and a bad one were, or how they were any different. But we've always had a talent for reading people in my family. You, though…you are still an enigma to me. I thought I would be able to see straight through you, but…no."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't try too hard."

"I assumed as much. A man doesn't create such an unflattering image for himself unless he is trying to hide something that means more to him than his very life. I wouldn't presume to trespass on that. Now that you hopefully feel less of a need to keep up a façade with me, however, I would like to ask you a question. May I?"

"You can ask anything you want." _I'm not guaranteeing an answer, though._

"Why were you on the verge of tears yesterday afternoon?"

"…Does it matter?" he asked cautiously.

"For me, I don't know yet. But for you, I think it does." When there was no reply, the banker sighed. "I got the sense that you were supremely unhappy to be in that meeting. I could understand that, to a point – after all, your needing to come in Mr. Fox's place was very sudden – but not to the level which you were displaying it. Durant told me that all through the proceedings to this point you have been quite accommodating, and that your displeasure yesterday was out of character. When I spoke with him this morning he intimated that you seemed much more yourself last night, after dinner, but my question remains nonetheless. You are a serious businessman; a simple glance at your company's net worth is more than sufficient to demonstrate that. A serious businessman, in my experience, does not nearly break down into tears midway through a contract signing without a very deeply felt reason. Not even during breaks," he added jestingly.

He had him dead to rights, and Bruce knew it. Still, though… "Felix, I'm not an open man by any stretch of the imagination."

"I gathered as much," the banker gave him a gentle smile. "If it helps you, my motives are not antagonistic. I simply sense that my company has unwittingly done you a greater wrong than we know. I have dedicated most of my life to this firm, Bruce, and yours is by far the largest account we have ever been offered. I very much do not want to start such an important relationship off poorly."

He believed him. _There's no malice here. He's honestly worried that I'm going to leave town feeling like his company screwed me over by requiring either Lucius or I's signatures and failing to tell us that we had to stay until Monday to finish up. _"…You had no way of knowing," he began a bit haltingly. "…Hell, _I _didn't know until a couple of hours before I found out I had to come and take care of this, but…my son caught a nasty flu at school. He's more or less over it now, according to the person I left him with, but I had to leave right at the peak of it. I've…I've never left him for more than an overnight before, and even then he's always had my butler, who he's very attached to," he smiled slightly, "to distract him. He's also away on an emergency right now, though, so…it was a very difficult goodbye, for both of us. I hadn't had a chance to speak with him since leaving, and he left me a message about two minutes after the meeting started. I had just finished listening to it when you came up."

"And of course it was full of the most precious things that he has ever said to you," the bank manager nodded, frowning deeply. "They always are, the messages sad children leave when their parents are away. I am extremely sorry that you are being kept away from him even longer than you anticipated. I wish you had told me the situation yesterday, when something might have been done."

_Yeah, knowing that does me a lot of good now. _"How?" Bruce demanded. "How could I have said that?"

Schulte regarded him with a mixture of pity and intense understanding. "I used to ask myself the same question," he responded quietly. He was about to go on when Kristina came back into the room and said something the billionaire didn't quite catch.

"Dinner is ready," the banker translated, gesturing for him to follow as he allowed their previous conversation to slip away. "Forgive her attempts at English, please. She came to work for my family as a teenager a few years after the end of the war. As you can imagine, German was not exactly a favored tongue in Belgium at the time – most of us who could speak it did so only at home - and she had great difficulty finding employment. My father was certainly no supporter of Hitler, but he wanted my sister to know the language of our predecessors, and thought hiring Kristina would be an ideal way to assist with that. By the time I came along, German wasn't quite so distasteful to many, but she liked it with us and never looked for another position. She speaks French well enough, but there was no need for her to have a good knowledge of English in her position."

"Yours is impressive, though," Bruce complimented, taking the seat that Schulte indicated.

"The result of boarding schools and foresight on the part of my mother, who argued with my dear beleaguered father until her dying breath that English was going to take over the world," he informed him as a different household employee came out and poured a garnet wine. "Even so, I have trouble with English idioms. I have never understood why their meanings are so elusive."

"Half of them don't make sense to me, either."

"Well, we're in good company, then," the banker raised his glass.

They discoursed on various topics over their food, the atmosphere between them growing particularly warmer after the steak arrived. Exchange of notes on the meat alone took up nearly twenty minutes, and by the time dessert was finished Bruce's palate was thoroughly sated. _Although I wouldn't say no to another drink,_ he considered. At home he generally only drank for the sake of his society image, but this was the second night running he'd been served excellent cognac, and he knew he wouldn't be able to turn it down if it was offered.

"Shall we return to the study for a _digestif_?"

"…I think you may have just read my mind, Felix." _I don't know why I feel so relaxed with him. It isn't just the alcohol, or the food, even. There's something else, I just don't know what…_

A few minutes later, seated in the low-lit and book-lined room with a fresh glass in his hand, he noticed a photograph on the low table beside him. A blond, muscular young man stood beside an attractive brunette in a verdant clearing, one arm of each supporting a small child between them. _…It could be a much younger Schulte, but the picture is awfully well defined for having been taken that long ago. That must be his son…_

"Kurt and Emmaline," the banker explained, seeing his interest. "The baby is Priscilla. It is the last picture that was taken of them as a family."

_The last…he implied that he tucks his granddaughter in every night. But why would she be here every night, unless…_ "…The _last_ picture?" he clarified.

"As I was saying earlier," he seemed to change the subject, "I, too, frequently wondered how I could possibly explain to a business patron or client that I was unable to conduct our affairs because my child was ill or desirous of greater attention from his father. I spent much of Kurt's childhood busy with other things. Granted, I was rebuilding what had once been an important banking institution, and that of course took much time and effort, but…Kurt paid the price. He understood, I think – even if he didn't, it was such a regular occurrence that after a while it was simply the norm for him – but looking back on it, that only makes it worse."

He took a deep breath. "I, too, have known the pain of leaving on a business trip when my son was sick in bed. I hated it, and I hated myself, and at the time I hated that I hated myself, because I saw what I was doing as necessary. Not just for the company, but so that I could give my son all of the best things in life. And I did, of course; the toys, the trips, the education. But not the one thing he wanted the most; his father. He was very young when his mother died, and as I never remarried he had no other stable presence in his life, really, except Kristina. I would call when I could, of course – we didn't have mobiles then, so it was somewhat more difficult to stay in touch than it is now – and I wrote him letters and sent him packages when I was abroad for longer periods, but…no matter how much he begged me, I could not bring myself to look those other businessmen in the face and tell them that I was needed at home. As much as I loved him, I put the contract first.

"He grew up. It was so fast. Every time I came home from another trip, it seemed as if I had been gone for ten years, he changed so much in the interim. And then suddenly he was away, out and about on his own in the world, and it was _me_ wanting _him _to come home instead of the other way around. I had gotten to a point with the firm that it was less and less necessary for me to travel, but he was the one doing the voyaging by then, on his holiday jaunts with friends and girls I had frequently never met and generally thought were bad influences on him. They weren't, of course – they were just young, all of them, and I had allowed the years to cause me to forget what that was like – but I fought with him about them, and about everything. The little boy I had missed in so many ways and for so long had turned into a stranger in my absence, and to this day I have never stopped wondering how much more understanding of one another we might have been if I had worked up the courage to say 'no' to my peers, even just once or twice.

"Eventually it got to the point where we barely spoke. Every conversation was strained; he married, and I wasn't invited. He said it was because she was one of his old school friends, and he knew I didn't approve of 'any of them.'" He wiped a single tear away before it could fall from his lower eyelid. "I wish I had known Emmaline, now. Then I only saw her as the woman who was keeping my son locked away in Manchester. After their funeral, though, I heard so many people say kind things about her, not just as one does at such events but honestly. That was when I began to realize what a fool I'd been all along, and how much Kurt had seen that I was blind to.

"They were killed in a traffic collision," he disclosed, eyes now fixed on his drink. "Priscilla – who I had never met – was about a year old. They left her with some friends of theirs for the evening in order to have a night out together. The other driver fell asleep at the wheel and hit them head on. There was no alcohol or anything else in his system; it was as pure an accident as possible. And they died. The police said it was instant for them both, but…that was no comfort. He was still gone, and I…I never got to apologize for all of the wrong-headed things that I said to him. I never got to know the wonderful woman he wanted to grow old with. The only recompense I can offer them now is to raise their beautiful little girl, and to tell her every day all of the good things about her father that she will never get to see for herself. The things that I was too busy or too angry to see until it was too late."

_Jesus._ "…Felix," he started weakly, having no clue what he could possibly say to such a story. _'I'm sorry'_ _doesn't even begin to cut it,_ he mourned.

"Bruce," the older man cut him off, his voice deep with emotion. "If you take nothing else from the relationships – business, of course, and I hope perhaps personal, as well - that have been forged this weekend, then take these words." He met his gaze, eyes blazing with the advice he would never be able to give his own son. "Do not repeat my mistake. To attend a signing on which the livelihoods of many hang is one thing, but all of the corporate goodwill in the world is not a fair exchange for missing even an _hour_ extra of your child's smiles. And if you ever meet with someone – anyone - who suggests that it is, you tell them to go straight to hell."


	21. Chapter 21

Dick yanked open the door to Gobblehead's home and disappeared inside, Clark on his heels. The smell assaulted the Kryptonian immediately, thick straw and earthiness carrying him back to a time when he had no reason to believe that he was anything more than a simple farm boy. _I guess in some ways I still __am__ a simple farm boy, if walking into a turkey shed seems heavenly,_ he made gentle fun of himself.

"Hi, Gobbles!" the boy skipped straight to the bird on the other side of the small space. It cooed and nibbled at his jacket as he stroked its feathers. "I missed you, too. Sorry I haven't been down to see you, I was sick."

_Wow. That is one calm turkey. _In his experience, such creatures weren't the kind to stand patiently in any situation, let alone when someone was touching them. Spotting the nearly empty food trough, he located the bag of feed and refilled it.

"Oh! I was going to take care of that, Uncle Clark. You didn't have to."

"It's all right, pal. Not a big deal." _You were a little busy making up for lost time. _Finished, he sat on the spare bale of straw in one corner, watching as the child and the fowl resumed their strange conversation, Dick talking, Gobblehead cooing, pecking, and headbutting. _…I must be losing my mind. The bird really does seem to be responding to him, not just doing normal turkey things. This is __odd__, how has Bruce not noticed this?_ A creeping suspicion was growing in the back of his mind, but he tried to push it away. _No. That's impossible, all of the experimental birds were destroyed. We made sure of it._

He glanced around the room, trying to think of anything other than the strange plot to create super-smart animals that had been foiled early in JLA history. A gleam of gold-edged pages caught his eye. "…Dick, why is there a copy of…" he picked the book up and read the spine, "Sherlock Holmes out here?"

"Gobbles and I like to read together."

His eyes narrowed. "The bird _reads_?" _Oh, no. No, no, no._

"Well, no. I read to him."

"…Does he listen?"

"Yup! Isn't that crazy?" he grinned. "Everyone says turkeys are dumb, but not Gobbles. Why are you all the way over there, though? Don't you want to meet him? I thought you'd like him, since your file says you grew up on a farm. Didn't you have turkeys?"

"We had a couple, from time to time," Clark nodded. _I'm being stupid. There's no way this turkey has anything to do with…that. It was five years ago, he would have been a hatchling at best. And we destroyed them __all__. _Standing, he walked slowly towards the pair, stopping a few feet away and crouching so as to not tower over the creature. "Hey there, Gobblehead."

The turkey made its signature sound and extended its neck to peck gently at his sleeve. Seemingly satisfied with him, it returned its attention to Dick, shuffling over against him until he began to pet its back once more. "You're needy today, Gobbles. I'm sorry you were lonely while I was sick." He frowned. "…Uncle Clark, you didn't hear him from inside at all, did you?"

"I was completely surprised you have a turkey, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. That's strange, normally he goes bonkers when he gets left alone for too long." He was quiet for a moment, patting the bird. "…Do you like Sherlock Holmes? I think we should read Gobblehead a story before we go back inside, so he doesn't feel neglected."

"…It's a little chilly in here. If you get cold, you might get sick again."

"Well…if we sit over by the heat lamp, I won't be cold. And you could read it, and I could just, like, lay on Gobbles and steal all of his warmth."

The Kryptonian smiled. _I swear he's got an answer for everything._ "Okay. But if you get cold or tired, you have to agree to tell me. Deal?"

"Deal," he nodded, moving over to where the specialty light shone redly. The turkey followed, settling down obediently beside him. Clark finished the bookending, leaning back against the wall on the other side of him. "There's no way I'll get cold like this," he smiled upwards. "Between you and Gobbles, I'm toasty."

"Yeah? Good." He fingered a slip of paper midway through the book. "Is this where you stopped?"

"Yup. Are you ready, Gobblehead?" he asked the bird. The creature tapped his knee gently with its beak. "Okay, Uncle Clark, we're ready."

If nothing else, he thought as he read the old story aloud, being out here like this seemed to be keeping Dick from thinking about either his terrifying experience of the previous morning or the fact that there were still two-plus days to go until Bruce's return. _And those are two __big__ things, _he considered. _But you really do seem distracted, and I can't object to anything that's going to make the time pass more easily for you._ As such, he didn't say no when the crime was solved and a second tale was requested.

Halfway through, he glanced down to find the boy fast asleep, his head pillowed on the back of the perfectly still bird. _You were supposed to tell me if you got sleepy, pal,_ he chastised silently, although he wasn't surprised that he'd tried to stick it out. _Stubborn, just like someone else I know,_ he chuckled to himself, setting the book aside and slipping his arms around the slumbering child. _…I wonder if I should put you back in Bruce's room, or…well, I can ask you. I'm sure you'll wake up when I try to take your boots and coat off._

As he'd predicted, there was an indecipherable mumble as he set him down on the bench in the foyer. "…Wha?"

"Hey. You fell asleep outside."

"Oh." His eyelids dragged open. "…We're inside now?"

"I brought you in."

"...Did you say goodbye to Gobblehead for me?"

"No," he smiled, working on knotted bootlaces, "but I'm sure he understood that it was time for you to leave. You were laying on him, after all."

"He's a good pillow. Fluffy." His hands rose to his jacket zipper and fumbled with it despite the fact that his eyes were closing again.

"You're still pretty tired, it looks like."

"No, I'm okay," he forced himself to sit up straighter. _I __am__ tired,_ _but I don't know if sleeping in Bruce's bed will work by itself,_ he worried. _ Last night I had the movie and his bed, but I can't ask to watch it again, that would be so boring for Uncle Clark._ "Could we-" he yawned, "-watch some TV?"

"Sure. If you fall asleep, do you want me to move you upstairs?"

"Yes, please." _But I'm going to try not to fall asleep. Just in case. _

Dick flipped through the channel directory, finally stopping on a re-run of 'Deadliest Warrior.' Clark gave him an odd look. "…Bruce and Alfred let you watch this?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "Bruce says it's good training because it lets you see how much damage different weapons can do to a person with just one or two hits. It's cautionary."

_I suppose it's hard to argue that a show is too violent when the person watching it spends nights taking down criminals,_ he considered. Still, he made a mental note to check with the billionaire when he got home. _I seriously doubt he's trying to get to watch something he wouldn't normally, but…better safe than sorry, especially when it comes to Batman's little bird._

The boy's attention might have been held longer had they been watching an episode he hadn't seen before. Half an hour into the show, however, he slipped back into sleep, slumping against the Kryptonian's side. For a while, everything was fine; then the images began. They didn't form a true nightmare, but were instead a series of short horrors, the worst moments from the past year of his life showcased one after the other behind his helpless eyes. His parents fell; Batman limped in on a weeknight, bleeding copiously from a wound that Robin hadn't been out with him to help prevent; the Joker leaned in, box cutter waving in his hand; there was no air, it was all gone, no air, no air, _no air_…

He jerked awake, gasping as Clark's cell rang on the end table. "…What?!"

"Whoa, relax, pal," the man frowned down at him. _He must have passed out without me realizing it,_ he realized guiltily as he picked up his phone. "…Can you handle talking to Bruce?" he asked when he saw the number.

"Yes," he said vigorously. "I want to talk to him." His stomach was churning slightly from the bloody scenes still sketched onto his retinas. _Maybe talking to him will make me feel better. _

"Well here, then, you take it," he passed the device over. "Take your time. I'll go get the bruise cream."

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, he answered the call. "…Bruce?"

"Hi, kiddo," his eyes widened as he slipped his key card into the door to his room. _I expected Clark to answer, but this is much better. You must really not be mad at me; you had to know it was me calling, after all._ "…How are you feeling?"

"A lot better." _Physically,_ he added to himself. _Mentally, not so good, but I can't tell you that. Not yet, at least._ "I haven't thrown up since yesterday."

"Good," he crooned. "What have you been doing today?" _Tell me everything. Anything. Just talk to me._ Schulte's parting words echoed in his head as he waited for a response. _'You still have time, this weekend. I can easily cancel the arrangements for tomorrow. So long as you are able to return by Monday morning, there will be no problem.'_ He'd nodded wordlessly at that, swallowing hard as he shook the bank president's hand and exchanged a meaningful look with the older man. _I don't know how he got to me so quickly,_ he had puzzled on the way back to the hotel. _I guess it doesn't really matter, but…I wish I could figure out why he felt so familiar. I know I've never met him before, so that can't be it…_

Putting the quandary aside for the moment, he'd spent the rest of the drive searching for flights. _If Schulte's going to be that open about letting me leave and come back, I don't really care what anyone else at his firm thinks. I don't even really care what Lucius or Alfred will say. It's going to be exhausting, but I don't give a damn about that, either. I promised my son we would spend Sunday together, and we're going to. _To his relief, there was a plane that would get him into Gotham fairly early in the morning and another that didn't require he leave until well after the boy's school-night bedtime. _I__ may even be able to catch a nap in there somewhere,_ he'd grinned, booking tickets on both.

"We made pancakes. You're going to have to get a new box of mix to hide, I think we used all of it," Dick's answer to his question snapped him back to the present. "And then we went outside and saw Gobblehead, which was good because he was almost out of food, and read a couple of Sherlock Holmes stories with him."

"Clark let you sit outside in that cold shed long enough for two stories?" he frowned ferociously, pausing in the middle of removing his shoes.

"We sat by the heat lamp, and I was in the middle. I didn't get cold, I promise." He paused. "Plus, it was more like one and a half stories, I think, because I fell asleep."

"…Okay," the billionaire allowed slowly. "So long as you didn't get cold."

"I didn't. Then we came inside and watched TV."

"Did you fall asleep again?"

"…Yeah. I wish I hadn't, though." _Oh, crud, shouldn't have said that._

"Why? Are you having bad dreams?" _Please say no. The thought of you having nightmares and my not being there to comfort you…_

"No," he lied, wincing as he did. "…It's just kind of early, you know? It's only six o'clock here."

"If you're that tired, though, you should probably let yourself sleep," he advised. "You can use my bed if you want."

"I did last night. It helped some."

"Clark told me you did. I'm glad it made it easier." He couldn't wait any longer to share his good news, but just as he prepared to do so Dick spoke again.

"…I really miss you, Bruce," he whispered.

"I know, chum," he closed his eyes. "But you know what?"

"…It's only _two_ days until you come home now?"

"Nope," he smirked. _I'm about to blow your mind, Dicky._ "It's less than one."

"…Huh? But…it's only Saturday."

"I know. I'm coming home early."

There was a moment of silence, then a squeal. "…Really?!"

"Really," he laughed. "I'm supposed to land at four thirty in the morning, Gotham time. Which means I should be home by six."

"We'll come pick you up," the child blurted out. "Please? Please say we can?"

_Oh, kiddo…_ "If Clark's willing, then of course you can." _If it buys me an extra ninety minutes with you, I'll take it. He's just going to have to deal with feeling like a chauffeur, because I'm sitting in the back on the way home._

"…Don't you have to be there on Monday, though? How can you come home tonight?" he puzzled.

"I'll fly back tomorrow night, then home again after everything is finalized Monday afternoon."

"You're going to be so tired, though!" the boy objected. _And you'll want to come home Monday night and patrol, because that's how you are, but if you're tired you'll get hurt, just like I remembered when I was sleeping…_

"That's okay, chum. It's worth it. Don't worry," he calmed him, knowing that he was thinking Batman would go out right after getting off of the plane. "I'll come home and go straight to bed on Monday. I have to go to work Tuesday morning, remember?"

"…Okay," he agreed. _He's coming home early, and I can tell him everything and maybe not have any more bad dreams… _"I'm so excited! I thought we wouldn't get to spend Sunday together, but now we do. And…it's really okay that you leave? What about the stuff the people there wanted you to do?"

"I had a talk with the president of the bank. He…understands." _He understands far more than you know, and feels it far more deeply than I __ever__ want to._ His lips pursed. _Never make me know the kind of pain that man lives with, Dick. Just…don't. Dying would be preferable to living in a world without you in it._

"Yay!" He was bouncing now, his stomachache and the other vestiges of his unpleasant sleep banished by the good news. "…Do want to tell Clark? He just came back in the room."

"You can tell him, if you want."

"Okay! So…four thirty?"

"Exactly. I'll see you then. Try and sleep before you come to get me, okay?"

"I'll try. Bye!"

"Bye, kiddo. I'll see you in a few hours."

The Kryptonian didn't get a chance to ask what had him so ecstatic before the child leapt from the couch and tumbled across the floor, popping up in front of him. "…Hello," he joked.

"Bruce's coming home early!" a happy little voice crowed.

"…He is?" _I'm glad you get to see him sooner than you thought – you're clearly delighted – but…I'm also a little sad._ The problem, he realized, was that he wanted to spend more time with the boy, and given what had transpired since Thursday there was no reason to think that Bruce would ever let that happen. "When?" _How much longer do I definitely have with you?_

"His plane lands at four thirty in the morning. We can pick him up at the airport, right?"

"Sure," he nodded. _Damn. That's not long._ "Are you hungry?"

"Umm…yeah, I kind of am, actually. I guess we could heat up the rest of Alfred's broth and put some crackers in it. That sounds good."

He ate, then went upstairs and took a bath before rejoining Clark in the den. "Whatcha watching?" he asked, climbing onto the couch beside him with dripping hair and fresh pajamas.

"Hmm? Oh," he made a face at the political panel on the screen. "I don't know, to be honest."

"…What's wrong, Uncle Clark?" Dick asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Nothing at all, pal," he answered quietly, letting his arm fall across the thin shoulders.

"If you weren't watching, that means you were just staring off into space," a rebuttal came. "You must have been thinking about _something_."

He sighed. "To be frank, I'm worried about how Bruce is going to react to everything. I feel like I could have done a better job taking care of you while he and Alfred have been gone."

"…Are you kidding? You've been _awesome_!"

That resounding assertion made him smile. "I'm glad you feel that way. The problem is, I highly doubt that Bruce will agree with you. Between letting you get dehydrated and the Joker, I have a feeling that he may never speak to me again, let alone let me anywhere near you. And that would make me pretty sad. I've enjoyed this weekend, and I think we could have a lot more fun some time when you aren't sick, but…that doesn't seem likely to happen." He paused. "…Am I blowing this out of proportion, do you think?"

The boy looked pensive. "Maybe. I don't know." He shook his head and met the Kryptonian's eyes. "Let me talk to him. He needs you, and I like hanging out with you. I'm not going to let him be all grumpy and standoffish again if there's anything I can do about it."

"...Thank you," he said seriously.

"Like you said before, it's nice to have help dealing with him sometimes," Dick shrugged, smirking slightly. "And he needs other people to talk to besides Alfred and I, so…yeah."

"He's very lucky to have you, you know."

"…I'm lucky to have him. It's a fair trade, I think."

_Mm…no, I think he needs you more than you need him. Maybe only a little bit, but…a small amount can make all the difference in the world._ It wasn't worth arguing over, so he kept the thought to himself. "Should we find something funny to watch?"

"Yes, please," he nodded, yawning as he stretched out and rested his head on the man's leg. A hand settled on his arm, and before they'd so much as located a program his eyes shut, letting him drift into a contented sleep.

He woke up an hour later to the sound of his own scream. Clark, who had gone down the hall to his guest room after moving the boy to Bruce's bed, was there instantly, having allowed himself a burst of super-human speed in response to the distress he'd heard.

"Okay, pal, calm down. It's okay," he tried to hold the trembling figure steady.

"_What time is it?"_ Dick sobbed at him.

_Jesus, what did you dream about?_ "…Seven thirty. Why?" The child hustled out from under his hands and dashed towards his own room, mumbling something about there still being time, if they hurried. "Dick, what…?" He didn't stop him, but merely followed, standing in the doorway and watching as he threw on day clothes. "What are you doing?" he asked quizzically.

"He can't get on that plane tonight." As he spoke, tears still pouring down his face, he upended his backpack, completely unconcerned as texts and papers went everywhere. The pajamas he'd torn off took their place, along with a light jacket whose hanger pinged off to somewhere on the other side of the room as he ripped the article from it.

"…What?"

"_He can't get on that plane!"_ he exclaimed, whirling around, his wet face adamant. Slamming the zipper closed, he stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with the Kryptonian. "Take me to Bruges."

"…_What?!"_ he sputtered. _I mean, it's certainly possible, but…why? What changed? You were perfectly happy an hour ago, and now you're a wreck. What's going on?_

"You've got to take me to Bruges!"

_Okay, this is __way__ out of my league. _Deeply concerned, he knelt down. "…Dick, I need you to explain what's going on here."

"There's no time!"

"I'm not taking you anywhere until I know why it's so important that you go to Bruges, pal. Bruce is coming home, remember?"

"I had a dream, okay!? And…and his plane crashed, and…" His expression dissolved into abject terror as he recalled his nightmare, all smoke, fire, panic, and unavoidable death, with Bruce wearing a 'well, how inconveniently ironic is this' look in the middle of it. _No escape. _"…and it wasn't the flight on Monday, it was the one tonight, and I don't know _how_ I know that, but I just _do_, and he _can't get on the plane_!"

_So much for Bruce's bed helping him avoid nightmares. _"…Listen, pal, the odds of that happening-"

"I don't care about the odds," he shook his head. "I've never had a dream like that before, never _ever_. Not that I was so certain was going to happen." He grabbed Clark's wrist. "_Please,_ Uncle Clark. Take me to Bruges. If I'm there, he won't come home. He won't get on the plane, and he won't die. Maybe nobody will, if he's not on it, I don't know. I know it sounds stupid, I _know_ it does, but what if it's _not_?" He threw himself forward, burying his face against a broad shoulder.

_An almost-ten-year-old having a premonitory dream wouldn't be the strangest thing I've ever experienced,_ Clark considered as he held him. _But still, it's so unlikely…_ "What if we just call Bruce? You could tell him about it."

"No. You know how he is, he'll tell me that everything's fine and then he'll get on the plane anyway. Even if I make him promise not to, he'll be worried about the fact that I had a nightmare like that, and he'll try to come home. He'll tell you not to bring me there, and it'll be too late..." His voice was a teary whisper. "What if I'm right? I'll…I'll be alone again, and I can't…I _can't_…_please…_"

The last word came out in such a pitiful whine that there was no defense against it. _…Even if he's completely wrong and this was just a really awful nightmare, he's going to work himself into a fit at this rate,_ he decided as the slight figure in his arms all but hyperventilated between sobs. _And I already have enough to explain to Bruce_. "…Okay," he agreed finally. "I'll take you." _I don't have much of a choice, not at this point. I think I'm going to regret this, but if it keeps you from making yourself pass out - or worse - from stress, I'll do it._ "But we're going to have to be careful, you know that. This is going to take some planning." He felt him nod, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

_Well, to Bruges we go, then. Shit._


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Reunion time!**

Bruce sighed as his phone buzzed. He was trying to pack, but Clark kept sending him weird text messages. '_What's the name of your hotel? Dick wants to find it on Google maps,'_ had started it all. Then it had been '_Do you have the address? He's trying to pinpoint it exactly, haha.'_ Shaking his head, he'd sent back the number and street listed on his room service menu, then resumed folding his shirts. _And now he's calling me. Can't it wait until I get home?_ "What is it, Clark?" he answered perturbedly.

"It's me," Dick's voice came back.

_Oh. _"Hey, kiddo," his tone lost the ire it had carried a moment earlier. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

"No, I was just…well, I meant to ask you something when we talked before, and I didn't because I was so upset about you being gone that I forgot. Now that you're…coming home…though, I wanted to make sure I asked before you checked out of your room."

"What did you want to ask?"

"Um, I've never been to Bruges before. And…what's it look like?"

"…What?" His forehead creased. _That's kind of a strange question._

"Well, I mean, you have a balcony, right? In your hotel room?"

"Yes. I do."

"Could…could you go out on it and tell me what it looks like?"

"Dick…listen, chum, I'm trying to pack," he explained, stacking thing into his suitcase one-handedly. "My car will be here in just a few minutes to take me to the airport so I can come home and see you. I really don't have time to-"

"_Please_, Bruce? Just…just really quick? Just for a minute?" Standing on top of the building opposite the hotel and peering at the array of shadowy terraces, he felt his panic returning. _You can't go to the airport! You have to come outside, I want to surprise you…_

Once he'd calmed down, soothed by the fact that Clark had agreed to take him to Bruges, it hadn't taken him long to come up with a plan. Using the address Bruce sent back in response to their texted query, they'd found an aerial view of his hotel. With the destination marked out, Clark had changed into his suit almost before the boy could blink. The man insisted that he wear his jacket and gloves, then picked him up and admonished him to hold on tight.

Mindful of the fact that his passenger couldn't handle a low-oxygen atmosphere the way he could, Superman had kept relatively low, trusting in his speed and the dark to keep them unseen. The earth passed quickly by beneath them, but the child loved it all anyway, his delighted giggles bringing a happy smile to the Kryptonian's face. Sensing his joy, he had ducked them up and down and side to side, then slowed for a minute in a cloud-free area over the middle of the North Atlantic and flipped onto his back so they could stare up at the canopy of stars that sprawled overhead. The awed '_whoooooa' _that the move and its resultant view had earned him made the additional effort of flying upside down for two hundred miles more than worth it.

The flight had been eight of the most exhilarating minutes of the boy's life. They'd avoided the massive cloud banks – _I never realized how __huge__ they really are,_ he'd marveled as they passed by one that was easily taller than any building in Gotham and stretched as far as he could see ahead – until he made a special request to fly through one. Feeling the man tense hesitantly above him, he'd resorted to begging. "_Please?_ Just a small one? I just want to know what it feels like." He hadn't gotten an answer until just before they landed, when they'd dipped down into a fluffy behemoth that seemed to glow in the faint moonlight. For all it felt like being wrapped in a wet blanket, it was amazing.

They'd landed less than thirty seconds later, both dripping as they plummeted down into the city. He'd had to bite his lip hard to keep his delighted squeal contained as a rooftop rushed up at him, then suddenly leveled off and supported his feet. "…Uncle Clark, that was the coolest thing _ever_," he'd whispered truthfully, turning around to throw his arms about his waist. "Thank you _soooo_ much for bringing me here."

"Don't thank me yet, we haven't stopped him," the Kryptonian had answered, returning the embrace tightly as he scanned the building across the street. "How do you want to do this? Do you want to just knock on his balcony door, or what?"

"…I think I have a better idea. Do you know which room he's in?"

"I do."

"Okay. I'm going to call him." They'd taken up their positions at the edge of the building as Dick pulled the phone out of his coat pocket and dialed. "…Just for a minute?" he pled now, deep into the conversation. "Please?"

"All right," Bruce sighed. _The driver's just going to have to wait a minute. Although I don't know why this is so important, I could just get him a postcard at the airport, or he could look it up online…well, what the hell. It's not like he's asking me to do anything strenuous, and it will make him happy._ He stepped out, his skin prickling in the cool breeze, and moved to the railing. "…What do you want to know?"

_Bruce,_ he whimpered silently when he came into view. He ached to somehow leap across the wide gap between them, but restrained himself in order to carry out his plan. "Just…what's it look like? What can you see?"

"…Lots of buildings."

"_Bru-uce…"_ he rolled his eyes as Superman's arm clamped around him and they both lifted up from the roof.

"Well, you asked," he teased. "Okay, okay. Lots of buildings, like I said, many of them brick, very stately…The roads aren't like they are in Gotham, they're curvy and sometimes narrow. They're mostly paved now, but you can kind of squint from up here and imagine that they're still cobblestones…" He warmed to his topic as he described it, the activity almost making it seem as if his boy was here with him and seeing the same sights. "And there are canals that glitter when the light hits them just right. It's quiet right now, because it's very late and this is kind of a fancier neighborhood, but in the day you can go down to the street and listen to people speak in several different languages, and…and you'd love it here, kiddo," he said gently. "It's beautiful." A chorus of bells rang out suddenly, chiming the second hour of the day as a short gust of wind came from behind him.

"…That was pretty. I wish our church bells sounded like that." It was torture, standing mere feet away without tackling him, but he wanted to see his expression when he turned around.

"You _heard_ that?" _This is a good phone, but I didn't think it was __that__ sensitive._

"Umm…" Bruce's phone beeped in his ear, signifying that the call had ended, but the child's voice stayed perfectly audible. "Maybe you should tell me what you see in the other direction."

_What the hell is going on?_ he thought as he whirled, frowning ferociously. Finding the same silhouette that had spent dozens of hours beside him on rooftops before tonight, he started violently. _I'm hallucinating. I caught Dick's flu, worked up a fever in the last five minutes, and I'm seeing things. It has to be that, because there's no way he's standing right there with Superman blocking the light behind him and wearing a shit-eating grin. _"…Dicky?" he breathed disbelievingly, his mouth quivering as his eyes widened needily.

Then the boy was on him like a limpet, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, face buried in his collar. "…I had to stop you," he said determinedly. "I had to make sure you didn't get on the plane."

The billionaire clutched him tightly, eyes full of tears, exactly as he'd known they would be when he finally saw him again. _I just figured I'd have about nine more hours to prepare myself,_ he gave a silent, watery laugh. _But this is better. Much better. I'm about as confused as I've ever been by what he just said, but it doesn't matter. He's here with me, and everything else can burn for all I care…_

The Kryptonian let them stay like that, just soaking each other in, for a full minute before he cleared his throat. "I'm going to go," he stated. "But let me know tomorrow and I'll come pick him up before your meetings."

Dick shifted around in Bruce's arms. "…You mean I get to fly with you _again_?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

"You bet, pal," Superman grinned back.

"…What about the plane?" the boy asked, mien suddenly turning serious.

"I'll take care of it. Don't worry." _Even if your dream was nothing but terrifying fantasy, I'm not going to risk the lives of hundreds of civilians by ignoring it._ "Bruce. This isn't, ah, inconvenient, is it?"

"…Don't be stupid. Of course it isn't." His grip tightened, pulling the child close again. "Hey," he added as the brightly-clad man prepared to take off. "…Thank you," he met his gaze.

His smile turned sad. _I hope you're still in the mood to thank me when you get him inside, see the bruises on his face, and hear the stories he has to tell you,_ he thought. _But regardless, I'll take this moment and count it as worth it, just for the look on your face when you saw him._ "Any time. And I mean that." He paused and gave a weak grin. "…Try to let up enough for him to breathe every minute or so." Then he was gone.

Mildly amused by the other man's quip, Bruce moved them inside. "Your hair's kind of soggy, chum," he commented, one hand cradling the back of his head. "Are you cold?"

"A little. We flew through a cloud. It was _so awesome…_I wish Wally could have been there, he probably wouldn't stop talking about it for a week…" His fingers tightened as his guardian moved into the living room area and sat them on the couch. _He's safe now, he won't go anywhere now that I'm here, and Uncle Clark will make sure nothing happens to the plane he was supposed to be on,_ he told himself. _But he's still going to freak out when he sees my face. That stuff J'onn made is good, but the bruises are still really, really obvious…_

_You're here, you're really here… _He closed his eyes, savoring the weight he held. _You said you're cold though, and you're definitely wet. I don't want you getting sick again…_ "You want me to order some hot chocolate? I bet they'll bring it up in a big silver pitcher, and you can have all of it you want."

"Yes!" he yelped.

"Are you hungry, too?"

"Mm-hmm…food sounds good." So did bed, if he wanted to be honest with himself. Here, with Bruce, almost everything seemed right with the world again. _I bet I don't have any nightmares tonight,_ he smiled.

"Yeah? What do you want to eat?"

"Umm…gosh…could I have a cinnamon roll? Do you think they have those?"

"I'll bet they probably do." He loathed the thought of releasing the bundle in his arms, but he really needed to get out of his damp things. "…Can you change into something dry while I call down to room service? Did you bring extra clothes?"

"Yup! They're in my backpack."

"Good," he pressed a kiss against his scalp. _That's my boy, planning ahead. _"Go on, then."

Ducking his head strategically, Dick slid to the floor and shuffled off into the bathroom. Bruce watched him go, eyes not leaving his back until the door shut. He was just reaching for the telephone when it rang. "…Hello?"

"Mr. Wayne? Your car is here," one of the concierges informed him nasally.

_Oh. Right._ "Ah…cancel it. I'm not going anywhere. There's no problem with me extending the room reservation back its original length, is there?"

"…We had someone booked, but we can move them. It won't be an issue for you, sir. I'll cancel your car. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually. Transfer me to room service." _Thank god for expensive hotels with 24 hour food and drink delivery,_ he thought as the line began to ring down to the kitchens.

In the bathroom, Dick examined his face. _This is going to be really bad,_ he cringed. Both side of his face were still yellow and purple, hideously marked by the crazed clown's cruel fingers. He knew the marks would fade away entirely eventually, but in the meantime there was Bruce to consider. _I wish I'd thought to grab some costume makeup from the cave. Maybe I could have covered them up, or at least made them less ugly…_ He changed slowly, hung his wet clothes up in the tub to dry, used the bathroom and then washed his hands with a thoroughness unmatched by most germophobes. Finally, though, there was nothing else he could reasonably do in the tiled room; he had no choice but to walk out and hope the billionaire didn't exclaim loud enough to wake the neighbors. Cracking the door, he peeked out and found him preoccupied with moving his suitcase off of the bed. _Here goes nothing, _he gulped, moving up behind him without sound. "…Did they have cinnamon rolls?"

"They did. Big ones, they said," he relayed as he set his bag down and spun to face him. The smile that had been creeping across his lips stalled, then turned into a little 'oh' of horror as he took in the morbid blush that stretched across his son's cheeks. Eyes bulging, he fell to his knees before him and cupped his jaw carefully with both hands, thumbs brushing the discolored areas. "What happened?" he whispered desperately.

"They're gonna go away, they're already a lot better than they were," fell out of the boy's mouth in a jumble. "J'onn made a special cream for them, and it's even better than what Alfred uses. I brought it with me, too, so I can keep using it while I'm here…" When the pain and rage warring in his guardian's eyes didn't recede, he bowed his head, tears swelling to the surface. "I'm sorry. We didn't know, we couldn't have known, Bruce, it wasn't anyone's fault, I _swear_."

"Hush, baby." He pulled him in and began rocking back and forth. "Hush. Who did this?"

"…It's a long story. Maybe we should wait until the food comes."

"No, they said it would be about twenty minutes. Tell me. Tell me everything." _Oh, god, what did Clark have you out doing for you to end up hurt like that? I thought there was no one I could have left you with who would be better able to keep you safe than him, but I was wrong. I was wrong, and now look at you._ "Who did this? Did they…" he choked, "did they hurt you anywhere else?"

"He slammed the back of my head into the wall a couple of times," he confessed slowly. "But it's not a concussion or anything, J'onn checked. I've just had some mild headaches. I mean, it was scary, especially because I was a civilian when it happened and I couldn't really do anything, but I got away, and…and…" He could feel the arms locked around him shaking. "…I'm okay, daddy, honest, I'm okay. Really. Don't be mad, it wasn't anyone's fault…"

"It was _someone's_ fault, little bird," he almost growled. "And I want to know whose."

"…You have to promise not to freak out."

"I can't do that. Someone hurt you, and I want to know who it was." _Calm down, damn it,_ he cursed at himself. _Batman __can't__ come out here, we're three thousand miles away from the bastard who did this. There's no one here to make pay. You'll only scare Dick, and that's the last thing you want to do. Calm down._

"Will…will you at least let me tell you the whole story before you explode?" He'd heard the rumbling edge growing in Bruce's voice, and knew that they would be in serious straights if he couldn't keep the vengeful side of his nature reigned in until they at least got back to Gotham. _Don't lose control, please, please don't…it's not that bad, it's really not, I barely even notice it if I don't touch my face much…_

He took a slow, deep breath. "…Yes," he swore, eyelids screwed down tightly.

"You _promise_?"

"Yes," he nodded. "You just tell me what happened. _Everything_ that happened." _Then__ I'll explode and tear whoever it was a new asshole. _"…Who hurt you, chum?"

"I…" He looked away. "You're not going to like it."

"Dick, answer my question."

"It…it was the Joker."


	23. Chapter 23

His breath caught in his throat. _No. No, no, no. It wasn't. It didn't. You…he…Clark, goddamn you, you son of a bitch._ "How?" the small part of his mind that wasn't either screaming in denial or seething with bloodlust managed to ask. "He was in jail!"

"I…" He trailed off, glancing around the room. "…Is it safe to talk here?"

"Yes," Bruce nodded. He'd checked the room personally several times since arriving, and knew there were no bugs in place.

"Okay." They rearranged themselves without speaking, the billionaire sitting cross-legged so Dick could curl up in his lap. Leaning his head against the man's shoulder and feeling himself being encased in a possessive hug, he sighed. "He escaped again," he explained. "On Friday morning, like super early, I guess. He let out a bunch of other crazies this time, too, so the police had their hands full. We didn't know about it until it was too late."

"…Didn't the signal go up?" he frowned. _You __and__ Gotham needed me. Great._

"It probably did. But there are no windows in the den, and that's where we were all night. Plus, we didn't have the TV on because it was hurting my head. Anyway, on Friday morning we went to the store to get some Pedialyte and other stuff. I was feeling better, kind of, and I was super thirsty, so I drank almost a whole bottle of water while we were shopping. Then, when were in line, I started needing to throw up again, so I went to the bathroom. I didn't want to make a mess on the floor for the workers to have to clean up, you know?" His voice shook slightly as he approached the pivotal point of his story.

"I know," Bruce murmured against his hair, still rocking slowly back and forth. "Go on. What happened next?"

"Well…" He paused for a long minute, steeling himself. "I went in the bathroom. I wasn't really paying attention, because my stomach was so bad. So I went inside, and…and there was a dead man. A janitor. The Joker had killed him while he was on the toilet and taken his box cutter. He…he cut a smile into his face…" Trembling, he tried to tuck himself further into the circle of Bruce's arms. "And then he was right behind me, only I didn't know it was _him_, not yet, and he covered my mouth and told me to be quiet or he'd cut my throat. That was when he slammed me against the wall the first time. He…he kept saying all these _creepy_ things, and some of them didn't even really make sense but they were still scary, and he just kept t-_touching_ me with that knife…like he didn't know where he wanted to st-st-_start_…" He burst into tears, finally overwhelmed by the horror he'd been dodging for two days.

_Stop, _Bruce begged silently. _Stop. Stop talking. Don't tell me any more, I don't want to know…don't cry, baby. Please, you're killing me here…I swear to god that fucking psycho had better hope I never get within arm's reach of him again…_ He wanted to let himself sink into the hellfire seething through his veins, wanted to fly straight home, march through the front doors of Arkham, and show every criminal in that awful place what happened when you laid so much as a finger on his child. _But I can't. Not now. Not yet, _he reined himself in roughly. It took every ounce of self-control that he possessed, but he managed it, a three-word litany in his head. _Dick needs me. He needs me._

"A-and I tried to close my eyes," the boy went on, his voice low in volume but high in pitch, almost keening. "Because I didn't want to look at him, you know, and he…he said if I didn't open them he'd…he'd…he'd cut them out." One of his hands gripped the throat of his guardian's shirt in an attempt to anchor himself to the present. "S-so I looked at him, because I didn't want him to do that. And then he…he cut my neck a little," he recalled. "It was like he was p-practicing, or m-marking a spot for later…"

His already stormy expression darkened further at that news, he tipped his head to the side and let his fingers flit over the already fading line. _He could have killed him. So easily. He was out as a civilian, everything I've told him about hiding our identities was working against him in that situation. A little extra pressure, a bit more force,_ he lamented, tears preparing to dive from his lower eyelids as his thumb caressed a spot that throbbed gently with life. _And I was here, a million fucking miles away…there was no way I could protect him…where the __hell__ was Clark for all of this?_ "Is that when he hurt your face, too?" he asked instead, knowing it was important that he get the entire recollection out in the open in one go.

"Yeah…he just pinched _really_ hard. And his stupid box cutter was right next to my eye, just…just like he said, like he was going to cut it out…" he shuddered. "Then he hit my head on the wall again."

Bruce let his hand slide up and underneath the thick raven hair to prod gently at the back of his skull. When the figure in his arms flinched, he hushed him. "I'm sorry. I need to check it."

"It's okay." He had known this was how it would be; every injury he acquired always had to be measured exactly so that the billionaire had accurate specifications for his guilt. _I wish he wouldn't blame himself,_ he thought sadly as the exam transitioned into a marvelously comforting massage, nails carding through his locks over and over again. _…But he will, no matter what I say, because that's just Bruce. He doesn't know how to forgive himself, he said it himself once…_

A knock at the door startled them both. _That was faster than they said it would be,_ Bruce glared. _…They can't see him here. Even without the bruises, it could raise too many questions. But how can I send him away right now? How can I let him go?_ It took a great deal of concentration, but he managed to loosen his arms from the around the child's slender frame. "Can you go hide in the bathroom for a minute, kiddo?" he asked gently, staring into wet, haunted eyes. "They can't see you here. You have to be my little secret."

He sniffled, wiping at his eyes as he nodded. Both climbed to their feet, Bruce's hand brushing the top of Dick's head when they passed each other. "I'll come get you as soon as they're gone," he swore. There was no reply, and he watched disconsolately as they were cut off from one another again. "…Hello," he greeted tersely, opening the door to allow the server inside with his heavy tray. "…Thanks." He passed over a coin and hustled him out a moment later, immediately doing up every lock there was. Crossing to the balcony doors, he bolted them as well and drew the curtains. _I'm sure no one saw us out on the balcony. Even abroad, how many people would see Superman and not start shouting about it immediately? Now…_

"…Dicky?" he pushed the bathroom door open slowly, wincing when it stopped with a thud.

"Ow!"

"What…chum, I can't get the door open with you back there." _Why the hell is he behind the door? He could have waited anywhere else in there, it's not that small of a room._ There was a shuffling sound, then a tiny okay for him to continue. Stepping into the room, the billionaire found his son rubbing one foot on top of the other as he sat leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself. "…Oh, kiddo," he breathed, seeing the moisture still trailing over the damaged flesh of his face. "C'mere."

He stood slowly and limped to him, eyes locked to the floor, then let himself be pulled in. A moment later Bruce simply picked him up and carried him back out into the main rooms, setting him down on the bed and sitting close by on the mattress. "…I caught your toes with the door, didn't I?" he asked. Dick nodded. "Let me see," he soothed, cupping the reddened digits and testing their mobility. "…I think they're okay. Do they hurt?"

"…They're okay," he said stolidly.

"Good," he cupped his chin. "…God, that looks so awful, Dicky," his brows drew down into a sad formation as he scrutinized the pockets of blood trapped and dissolving beneath his skin. The child let him look for a minute, his gaze never leaving his guardian's visage, before he all but fell into him in a wordless request to be tugged close and squeezed tight. Bruce obliged willingly. "…You said you escaped, though," he remembered after a little while. _I don't know how you managed that, having to act like a civilian against the Joker of all people, but if anyone could, it would be you. _"Tell me how you did that." _Maybe thinking about the good job you must have done will at least help you stop crying. I'd give anything to make that happen right now…_

"I…" He swallowed hard. "…My throat's dry. Can I tell you while we have hot chocolate?"

"Of course," he whispered. "You can even drink it in bed if you want." _Anything. Anything, really._ He swiftly poured two cups of the beverage, pain and guilt clawing in his chest. _I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, __so__ sorry…I didn't want you to __ever__ have to meet him, and then for it to happen like this…_ "Here we go," he rejoined him. "Careful, it's a little hot still." Thin, pale fingers wrapped around the plain but heavy mug, and the child lifted it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he tasted the sweetness. He took two long drinks, and Bruce simply stared, absorbing every detail. _This might never have been. He had you, he __literally__ had you in his grasp….so how? How are you here with me right now?_ He had to know. "…Dick?"

"Sorry," he gasped slightly, lowering the now half-empty cup to his lap. "…It's really good," he said, seeming a bit more stable than he had a few minutes earlier.

"Did it help?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "It…it kind of did."

"…Can you tell me how you got away? And maybe throw in where Clark was for all of this?" he added bitterly.

There was a tiny glint of steel underneath the blue that was turned on him at that. "…Don't be mad at him, Bruce."

"How can I not be?" he countered. "He's goddamn _Superman_, and he almost let you get killed. You don't _really_ expect me to forgive him for that, do you?" he hissed, angry not at his son but at everything else about the situation that had played out in the market. "I'm not you, chum, I can't just forgive people who stand by and practically let the most important thing in my life be taken away!" His voice was rising along with the fury that had bubbled in the pit of his stomach while he comforted the boy. _I have to calm down. I have to. But how? How do I-_

"You promised you'd let me finish my story before you exploded," a young voice reminded him, flat with displeasure. It was enough. The billionaire deflated, the ire that had been shooting through him having been intercepted by the only thing that could have stopped it at that point; a disappointed and hurt pout. _And the bruises only make it worse,_ he wept silently, wrestling part of himself back into chains. _I promised. He shouldn't have to force me to keep so many of my own oaths…_

"…I'm sorry," he shook his head. "You have no idea how difficult this is for me, Dick."

"…No offense, Bruce, but it isn't exactly a picnic for me, either. This…this is why I didn't tell you sooner. This is why we waited. Because I knew you'd freak out, and…I wanted to tell you so bad, the whole time, I just wanted you to make it all better, but I had to wait…" The tears started again, splashing into the mug he still held as he bent forward, sobbing.

_Oh, christ, why am I such a monster?_ he gaped for a second before setting both of their drinks to the side. _He went two days without telling me, probably having nightmares I can't even begin to imagine, all because he feared how I would react if I learned about it before he was with me._ "…Okay. Okay, hush," he embraced him again. "I'm sorry. You're right, I…I did promise. So tell me the story, kiddo. You just tell me everything, and I'll listen, and I'll try to make it all better, okay?"

"…Okay," he whined, nodding against his neck. A few sniffles later, he was ready to continue. "So…he, um, did and said what I told you before, and…I knew I had to get away. I tried to keep him talking, I knew Uncle Clark-"

"_Uncle__ Clark?!"_ If he'd had anything other than the boy in his hands at that moment, it would have been chucked across the room.

"_You promised._"

"…I'm sorry," he grimaced. _'Uncle Clark.' You've got to be kidding me with that. Right now I think I prefer the 'Funerary Clark' model. 'Embalmed Clark.' 'Nowhere-near-my-son-ever-again Clark.' Yeah. That last one, definitely. The others will have to wait. I need time to prepare for those._

"…I knew Uncle Clark," he emphasized purposefully, "would come looking before too long. He asked if I wanted him to come with me, but there was a line and I really just wanted to go home as fast as we could, so I told him no. _We didn't know_," he stressed as he felt muscles tighten. _Maybe if I turn this onto me, he'll realize that there was no reason to do anything different based on the information we had. _"Honestly, Bruce, give me some credit. You've had me read a lot about the Joker; I wouldn't just go waltzing into someplace that I thought he might be, let alone as an ill civilian."

"…You have a point," he had to admit. "Go on."

"So I was trying to just keep him talking, get him monologuing. And it worked for a couple of minutes, but…he started getting jumpier and jumpier. I knew I had to try and get away from him." He paused briefly. "He pulled his arm back, the one with the box cutter in it. He…he was going to just kill me, right then. And…well, I didn't have a weapon, except that my stomach was still upset, and I had to get away, so…" He shrugged.

"…So what?!" the billionaire exclaimed, peering down at him.

"I…I threw up on him," the boy confessed, biting his lip nervously as he waited for a reaction.

_You…you __threw up__ on the Joker?_ His brain stalled momentarily as it tried to decide which emotion - uproarious delight at the thought of his nemesis dripping with puke or primal terror at the knowledge of what the insane man would do if he ever figured out who had vomited on him – was more appropriate. Stymied, it settled in the middle, forcing a giggly little shriek from him in a note that his throat hadn't managed in fifteen years. His hand smacked over his mouth. _What the hell kind of a noise was __that__?_

Dick peered up at him as if he had just taken his head off of his shoulders and begun to juggle it. "…Are you okay?" he queried, both eyebrows arching up.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "…Yes. I'm, uh…I'm fine. You… you actually…I mean, you…you _threw up_ on _him_? All…all by yourself?" he added.

"'All by myself?'"

"I'm sorry, I…" he began to shake with laughter. "…I just can't get that picture out of my head…it's not funny, I know it isn't, I'm _so_ sorry, I just…I just can't…Jesus…Dick…you…"

"I didn't have anything else," he blushed deeply. "I had to do something, he was going to kill me!"

That reminder sobered him drastically. "…I know," he nodded, his mouth almost vanishing as it clamped down into a thin line. "I know." He rested his forehead on the boy's, and they sat silently for several seconds. "…You are," he stated finally, "the most amazing child in the world."

"I got lucky," he shrugged the compliment off modestly. "I never thought I'd be _grateful_ for having the flu."

"…Was he angry?"

"It was weird, Bruce. It was _almost_ like it didn't phase him. He pulled back just long enough for me to get out from under his hands, and then he stabbed the wall. At least I think he did; it sounded like something broke as I was running away."

"I hope it was his fucking hand," the billionaire snarled. "…Don't tell Alfred I said that word in front of you," he added. "…And don't repeat it, either."

"I won't. And if it _wasn't_ his hand, I'm pretty sure Uncle Clark broke his _head_ right after that, so…"

"And where was the most terrible sitter in history for all of this?" _This should be good._

"I told you, I told him to stay in line while I went to throw up. As soon as he was done paying he came back to check on me. He showed up right as I got out of the bathroom. I was going to run towards the back of the store – I think it's a big warehouse area back there – because I didn't want to lead the Joker out to a bunch more people he might have hurt. Anyway, he stopped me, then went in and beat the crud out of the Joker."

_After everything that had just happened to him, he still thought about the citizenry first._ He squeezed him tightly. "I am so proud of you," he whispered.

"…For projectile vomiting?" the boy asked quizzically. "Weird, but okay."

"No," he chuckled. "Do you remember what we talked about a few months ago? About how you can apply some of Robin's skills even when you're out of costume, you just have to be careful?"

"Yeah. I've been working on it."

"And it shows. I would have been impressed with your utilization of available resources if you'd done that exact same thing in the field; the fact that you managed to do it as a civilian, and in the middle of such an experience, all without giving away Robin…wow, Dick. Just…wow."

"…Thanks," he smiled up at him. "So…what about Uncle Clark? You're not, like, going to build a kryptonite guillotine or anything, are you? Because honestly, Bruce, it really wasn't his fault, and I know he already feels really bad that it happened at all, and he's _super_ worried that you're going to hate him forever and never let him see me again, and I don't want that _either_, so please, please, _please_ don't be mad?" As his desperation grew, so did the pace of his words, blending them all together into one long sentence.

"Calm down. You're starting to sound like Wally when you get excited," he advised. "As for Clark…I don't know how I feel right now, chum. About him, about Joker – well, that's not true, I feel the same way I always do about the Joker, I just loathe him even more intensely now than I ever have before – and most of all about myself. I'm kind of just one big ball of anger right now, mostly, and I haven't really figured out who is going to get how much of it thrown at them. So…give me a little time, okay?"

"…It wasn't his fault, Bruce. And it wasn't yours, either."

"…I know."

"But you don't, at the same time," he sighed, playing with his fingernails pensively.

The billionaire flinched at the truth of that statement. "Yeah. I don't. I'm sorry."

"It's just _you_, Bruce. It's just how you are. I accepted that a while ago now." He looked up. "…Do you think eating part of my cinnamon roll will help you decide faster?"

He smiled. "I don't need part of yours. I ordered one for each of us."

"…Can we eat them?" he asked, twitching his nose when the man's finger poked at it playfully.

"Considering how much we're probably _paying_ for them, I think we should at least try to, don't you?"

"Definitely."

"You get under the covers," he instructed as he stood up to refill their drinks and get the sweets. "It's three in the morning, which as we both know is almost _my_ bedtime. We'll eat, we'll talk about anything else you need to talk about tonight, and then we'll go to sleep. Deal?"

"Mm-hmm," he nodded, already looking tired as he snuggled under the duvet. "…Can we sleep in, then order room service for breakfast?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, kiddo."


	24. Chapter 24

A short while later Dick was completely unconscious, a bit of sticky cinnamon frosting still coating his fingers and lips. Bruce didn't care, the same as he didn't feel any remorse for the crumbs that had no doubt fallen onto the bed, destined to be squished into the high-thread-count linens. None of those things mattered, he decided as he pulled the blankets up to the boy's chin, not right now. Right now the mere fact that his son was here with him, alive and relatively whole, still felt like he'd won the lottery off of a ticket he didn't even pay for.

And so for a time he just held him, listening to his quiet breathing as he rubbed slow circles on his back. _No nightmares,_ he begged. _Not tonight. I'll probably have enough for both of us, and I'm sure you've seen more than your fair share over the past two days._

Staring up at the shadowy plaster swirls of the ceiling, Bruce tried to untangle his emotions regarding the story he'd been told. _I just have to think this through like I would a case,_ he determined. _Logic it out. So…a list of suspects. I already know how I feel about the Joker, that one's so obvious it's not worth wasting time with._ He set the clown aside in his mind, positive that an opportunity would come for Batman to settle accounts. _Dick…I'm not mad at him. The only thing he did that might be construed as 'wrong' was not telling me what had happened for two days, and even then I understand why he didn't. He's right; I don't think I would have been able to come back down if I couldn't see him myself and verify his condition. There was no one here before he arrived who could have stopped me if I had lost it. I should be upset with him for not telling me he was hurt, I suppose – we have that rule for a reason - but he __did__ tell Clark, so I can't be. Dick's completely exonerated._ He glanced over at the child, whose bruises were almost invisible in the low light. _…I couldn't stay mad at that face even __with__ good reason, anyway_.

_…Clark, _he went on. Now this was going to take some serious thought. _…Okay. Why am I mad at him? _He rolled his eyes. _Because he put my son in the path of a completely insane person, of course. How did he not know he was out of Arkham? How did he not know he was in the bathrooms? Doesn't he __use__ those superpowers of his?_ Sensing something slipping the reins, he tried to step back. _…Logic. Let's think about this._ They had to go to the store, Dick had said. He couldn't begrudge that, especially if the Kryptonian was buying things to try and keep the boy hydrated. As for why they didn't know about the Arkham breakout sooner, he'd explained that, too; they didn't see the signal – _and even if they had, how could they have responded to it?_ he allowed – and the TV was off because it hurt. _…Radio? Wouldn't he have listened to the radio in the car? I suppose __maybe__ not, but…but __why__, damn it? __Why__ did it have to happen this way? And why am I starting to think that the only people I have any cause to be mad at are the Joker and myself?_

It was no use. He didn't have the strength to keep shoving his anger and hurt down every two minutes; he needed someone else to do it for him. _And I don't want it to have to be you, chum, _he thought fervently as he dropped a soft kiss onto his forehead._ You've got enough going on, and you already spend more time than you should have to reeling me back in. But what are my options? If I call Clark right now I'll try to reach through the phone and strangle him. So…_ He glanced at the clock and decided to resort to his oldest line of defense. _It's earlier than I'd usually call, but I don't think Alfred will mind too much. Not once he hears the reason why I'm waking him up._

He squeezed the boy for a moment longer, then slipped out of bed and went into the next room, phone in hand. After a mere two rings, the other end was picked up. "…As delighted as I always am to speak with you, Master Wayne, I must say this is a _bit_ early," came through. "Is there some problem?"

"I…yeah. There is. Dick's fine," he assured, well aware of the direction the butler's mind was likely to go in. "…Well. More or less."

"'…More or less,' sir?" he requested, sitting up in bed. _Taking the hour into consideration, that does not bode well in the least,_ he thought sourly, his lips pursing.

"It's…shit," he mumbled. _Civilian line. Even if I could somehow rephrase everything, doing that would take away a lot of the meaning…_ "I don't know how I can really get the point across like this, Alfred," he said miserably. _So much for this idea._

_Ah, this must have something to do with masks,_ the Englishman surmised. _Very well._ "My apologies, Master Wayne, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call you back in just a moment. My mobile's battery is almost completely gone, and I sense that this is a matter of some urgency and length, is it not?"

"It is." _You have no idea._

"I'll speak with you shortly, then." Rising, he crossed his childhood bedroom and opened the top dresser drawer, letting his hand trail through the various hats and gloves his mother now stored in it until his finger caught the tiny latch at the back. When lifted it allowed a small portion of the false bottom to be pulled up, revealing a hidden tangle of wires and a small black box with two lights. Taking everything, Alfred shut the drawer and quickly attached the apparatus to the desk phone, then dialed Bruce's cell. "...I'm monitoring the line now," he informed him. "And the light is green."

"...You just had a monitor under your pillow, or…?" the billionaire asked, a bit flabbergasted.

"The things one can find simply lying about in the Pennyworth household _are_ extraordinary at times, sir," he said, his tone making it clear that that was all the explanation he was prepared to give. "Now, please explain what's happened. Is Master Dick _really_ all right?"

"Yes. He's here with me."

"In Bruges?" he arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Superman flew him over, apparently at Dick's insistence based on the first thing he said to me when I saw him." He frowned. _I have to remember to ask him about the plane…he never told me what that was about._ "Long story short, Alfred, they went to the store on Friday morning and Dick was attacked." He paused, swallowing a lump in his throat. "…By the Joker."

Somewhere just outside of London, Alfred's unoccupied hand balled into a fist. "I wish I believed you capable of such a cruel joke, Master Wayne," he breathed after several moments of silence.

"I'm not making it up," he replied. "I wish I was, though." He proceeded to give the butler a brief rundown of what he'd been told, leaving out the details of the boy's escape. _He can tell him that part himself. I don't even know if I could get the words out, they seem so incongruous with everything else… _"He's asleep now. He didn't say so, but I'm guessing that he's been having nightmares every time he's gone to sleep since that happened. I'm just hoping that being here and telling me what happened will be enough to keep him from having any tonight. He has to be exhausted, even without counting in the fact that he's been sick."

"Quite," the Englishman agreed, shaken. _Thank god he didn't relay the information about his encounter to you over the phone,_ he thought. _There's no telling what you might have done in that case._ "…I take it, then, that the Joker has been remanded into police custody?"

"That's what I understood, yeah." He'd been pacing as he told the story, and now sat on the couch, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "…Alfred, help me."

"With what exactly, Master Wayne? Do you need me to come to Bruges?"

"No," he shook his head. _I want a little time for him and I only. I need to keep him to myself for a bit, and I think he needs some time with me, too. _"No, I just…I don't know how I feel about everything. About anything, really. I tried to figure it out on my own, but…yeah. You know how great my skills are in that department."

"Well, I suppose we ought to try and sort out what you're feeling. You're angry, I assume?"

"Furious."

"Is that your dominant emotion at the moment?"

"…If it isn't, it's damn close."

"Very well, then. Let's start there. Why are you angry?" he inquired calmly. _And now you'll ask why I would even bother with such an obvious question, just as you always do,_ he smiled slightly.

"…Isn't it obvious?!" he exclaimed, leaping back to his feet and resuming his back and forth. His fingers coursed through his hair, leaving it looking as if a drunken forest was sprouting from his scalp. "He could have been killed! He…he nearly _was _killed! If he hadn't moved right, or if Clark had been a second later, or one of a million other things, you and I would both be flying home for a funeral!"

"So your anger stems entirely from the fact that something that was out of your control occurred?" he raised an eyebrow.

His pacing paused. "If I hadn't come to Bruges-"

"That wasn't an option," he reminded him.

"I should have known he would-"

"You had just put the Joker back in jail, sir. Even he rarely escapes twice in such quick succession. Why on earth would you have suspected he would free himself again so soon? None of your past experiences gave you reason to think he would, clearly."

"Well, no, but-"

"Then why are you blaming yourself?"

"…Alfred, I should have been there. If I had been there instead of Clark-"

"It may very well have turned out the same, or worse." He was playing with fire by suggesting that things might have gone worse had Bruce been the one present when the Joker made an appearance, but he didn't see much of a choice. _Two days ago it was a complaint of 'I'm not good enough for him; maybe Clark would be better,' _he observed. _And this morning it's 'if I'd been there instead of Clark, things would have been better.' I'll never understand why you doubt your parenting abilities, my boy. I can only hope that the more opportunities you have to use them the more confident you'll become…_

"What?" Bruce puzzled.

"Imagine, Master Wayne, if you had been the one at the store with the young master on Friday. He would have gone to the bathroom-"

"Not without me, he wouldn't," he interrupted. "I would have left the line."

"Are you sure? Because to be honest, I rather doubt it. After watching him be ill for the entirety of a day, don't you think you would have welcomed a break, however short? Especially if he assured you that he didn't require your assistance?"

Thinking back on how awful seeing and hearing the child vomit had been up until he'd left the manor, he had to give ground. "…Well, if I had x-ray vision and goddamn super hearing I would have at least _checked_ the bathroom before he went into it."

"Even if you had no reason to suspect that there was anything sinister awaiting him there? I can't imagine that Mister Kent would have let him out of arm's reach had he known the Joker was on the loose."

_'Any time,'_ Clark had said just before he took off. _'…And I mean that.'_ Bruce took a deep breath. _Alfred's right, _he had to concede. _Clark cares about him. He didn't volunteer to watch him out of some friendly obligation to me, not entirely. He did it for him, too. And even if Clark did know the Joker was free, with all of Gotham to hide in why would anyone think he'd take refuge in the men's room of a grocery store in a good part of town?_ _Even Batman wouldn't have picked that as a likely location. Which is probably exactly why he chose it,_ he added bitterly. _Plus…for all that Clark has powers, there are still limits to them. He admits himself that there's a distortion factor he has to take into consideration for his super senses. And in a grocery store, with all that metal shelving and product between him and the bathrooms...he may very well have __tried__ to check and not been able to, at least not clearly enough to tell anything._

"…Okay," he sighed, relenting. "I see your point. And technically Clark ensured that Dick wasn't hurt worse by knocking the Joker out before he could chase after him, and he took him straight to Mount Justice, so…"

"So we should both be exceedingly grateful that Mister Kent was present and that things went as well as they did," Alfred said firmly. "Particularly given that they were both in civilian garb at the time."

"…I really don't have any grounds to be mad at him, do I?"

"Before I share an opinion on that, sir, may I inquire as to what Master Dick said about the subject?"

"He said it wasn't Clark's fault, and that he feels bad about it all. And…he said Clark's afraid that I'll never forgive him and that I'll keep Dick from him," he said quietly.

"I must confess that I'm not surprised to hear that. It's about what I imagined he would say." He shifted in his chair, watching the street outside slowly lighten as dawn broke. "Master Wayne, if I may speak frankly, I believe that you would be an utterly damned fool were you to hold any of this against Mister Kent. Barring some drastic new evidence coming to light, it sounds as if he did absolutely everything he could to ensure Master Dick's safety and happiness. Trying to keep the boy sequestered from him would be equally as ill-advised. If he is to have a future as Robin, he will need allies other than you and I, and the earlier he forms those alliances the stronger they will be when he must rely on them. I know that you know that; if you did not, you would never have allowed his friendship with young Mister West to be, and you wouldn't take him to the mountain to interact with other heroes with nearly the frequency that you have since the turn of the year. Don't you _dare_ cut him off from what may be one of the most important bonds he will ever make outside of the walls of our home. After all," he added wryly, "Superman has already saved his life once."

"…He's started calling him 'Uncle Clark.'"

"I don't find that to be an inappropriate title, do you?" _He certainly puts up with you more than some biological brothers would,_ he considered. _And I believe you see him as such, even if you would never say so. _"If anyone is deserving of having that label attached to their name, I can't think of a better person than Mister Kent. Furthermore, I think you feel the same way."

"I…Alfred, I swear you know everything." _Clark's…I don't know why he sticks around, honestly,_ he sighed.

"Not quite _everything_, sir. If I did, Master Dick and yourself would no longer have reason or need to spend your evenings in the dangerous pursuits that you do. Besides," he continued, "I had a bit of secret information that made the result of our conversation a foregone conclusion."

"What was that?"

"To put it simply, you didn't really want to be mad at Mister Kent. I imagine that is the result of the fact that a mere forty-eight hours ago you realized the fallacy of another form of anger you held for him, and as such were more likely to view this new rage in a more skeptical light. Master Dick's support of him was also an important factor, I'm sure, since there is no one in the world whose opinion you hold dearer, particularly when the issue is other people. Yes, I've noticed my demotion," he chuckled at the slightly sharper than normal intake of breath those words drew. "But that's quite all right. Better to lose ground to a beloved ally than to an enemy. If nothing else, collusion is much easier in such cases."

"_That's_ not frightening in the least. The thought of you two acting together against me…" he shuddered.

"We only do so for your own good," he commented lightly, a smirk flashing across his face as he sat alone in his room. "And you generally seem to enjoy the outcome, so I don't imagine we'll dissolve our conspiracy any time soon." He was being hyperbolic, but it was enjoyable to hear Bruce becoming mildly flustered on the far end of the line.

_He's teasing you,_ the billionaire calmed himself. "…You were right," he commented, returning to their earlier topic. "I…I guess I really didn't want to be mad at Clark. I was – there were moments during Dick's story when I just wanted to kill him - but…it wasn't like it was before. There wasn't this constant rage directed at him the whole time. I just wish…this was the worst possible way for it to happen, Alfred. I knew he had to run across the Joker eventually, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be far in the future, and he should have been in costume so that he could really defend himself. And I should have been there," he dropped onto the sofa again and covered his eyes with his hand. "He faced him _alone_. All by himself. And that's so very wrong, Alfred. No one should face that bastard alone."

"And yet Batman does, frequently."

"That's not the same. He's a _child_."

"You knew that when this all started, sir," he reminded tersely.

"Yeah, but it didn't even matter, did it?" Bruce spat back. "Because it wasn't Robin who met the Joker; it was Dick." _Although his Robin training __did__ come into play. Would he have escaped without that? I don't know…he's been resourceful and clever as long as I've known him, he might have managed._

"…Very true, sir," he sighed. After a moment of silence, he made a proposal. "Would you like to delve into some of the other emotions you're no doubt still carrying about this event? I've plenty of time, mother still has a couple of hours to go before she'll require her next dose of painkillers."

"Thanks, Alfred, but…no," he declined. "Maybe when we get home and everything's settled, but for now, you've helped me unravel the biggest issue I was facing. I feel much more in control than I did when I called. So…thank you."

"Going to bed finally, then, sir?" he asked gently.

"…Yeah. And you better believe I'm sleeping in this morning."

"Were you able to cancel your activities for the day? I'd be happy to call and do it for you at a more appropriate hour."

"No, it's all taken care of," his lip twitched upwards. _You're as bad as I am with the never stopping. _"Besides, you're on vacation. I feel a little bad for calling, to be honest."

"There are certain jobs, Master Wayne, from which one never takes a vacation."

"I've recently figured that out," he laughed.

"Fortunately it's mostly a pleasant sort of employment." There was a pause. "…Do tell Master Dick that I'm quite proud of how well he bore up in the face of such a threat, won't you?"

"Sure," he nodded.

"…You never mentioned _how_ exactly he escaped the Joker's clutches," the butler pointed out, curious.

"I'm going to let _him_ tell you that part. You won't believe it, really, you won't." _I'd like to see you stay stoic when he explains what his secret weapon was,_ he smirked. "…Thanks again, Alfred."

"Get some rest, sir. And do ensure that the young master eats while he's with you; he tends to drop weight horrendously quickly when he's ill, and he has a check-up in a fortnight."

"Well, I've already watched him wolf down a cinnamon roll the size of my hand, but I'll keep pushing food when he wakes up."

"Very good. Enjoy your day, Master Wayne."

"…You, too." _Okay,_ he yawned the instant the call ended. _Bed time. _Passing silently back into the bedroom, he ensured that the drapes were tightly closed against the sunlight that was already bathing the city and climbed under the covers. _Sorry about that, kiddo,_ he apologized, wrapping an arm around the still-sleeping child securely. _Couldn't be helped. But now I'm all yours for the next twenty four hours. Everyone else can go screw themselves._ He smiled blissfully as the warm little body snuggled in against him.

_ Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams._

**Author's Note: A 'drunken forest' is something we get here in the permafrost zones. As the permafrost melts and sometimes reforms underneath of trees, it makes them all crooked and throws them at angles to one another. Because the trees can't stand up straight, we call them 'drunken forests.' Google it, there are some pretty awesome pictures out there. And, as always, thanks for reading. :D**


	25. Chapter 25

There was a weight on Bruce's chest when he opened his eyes next. _What…?_ he wondered groggily. _…Ohh, kiddo,_ he sighed a moment later when he realized what it was. At some point during their sleep Dick had crawled on top of him and sprawled out as if he was trying to keep him from going anywhere. _I wasn't planning on leaving you, chum,_ he pouted. _I hope you weren't trying to get me to comfort you after a bad dream without waking me up. You don't need nightmares, you live enough of them with your eyes open._ He squeezed him for a long minute, then rolled onto his side and deposited the boy on the mattress. When he knew he hadn't woken him with the movement, he slipped away into the bathroom, glancing back as he went.

As he performed his standard morning rituals, his brain hummed with the child in the next room, swinging from pure joy at the thought of spending an entire day together to dank guilt as he continued to blame himself for the run-in with the Joker. _I should have hit him harder,_ he cursed. _Then he would have stayed down longer, and this wouldn't have happened. If I had had the spine to tell Schulte on Friday that I had to go home, he wouldn't have had to guard his speech for two days and try to wrestle with this on his own. Well, with only Clark's help,_ he amended. _Which isn't the same. Damn it, I __know__ I can't be there for him every second of every day, but…I should have been there for that._ He stared at the floor of the tub for a long moment, contemplating what he considered to be a massive failure on his part regardless of what Alfred or even Dick argued to the contrary. His posture forced shampoo to succumb to gravity, and it ran into his eye along the way. The burning it caused, however, was not the true source of the tears that mingled with the shower's flow.

Finishing his ablutions, he returned to the bed. _Ugh, those bruises…_ he winced. It took only a moment of rifling through the backpack the boy had brought from Gotham to find a yellow substance that he recognized as one of J'onn's topical creams. _Good, he mixed you up the strong version. I don't know how we're going to be able to send you to school this week, though…facial marks take so long to vanish, and it's just the kind of thing CPS would love. There's not even a good explanation we can give as to how you got almost perfectly symmetrical bruises while you were home sick,_ he fretted as he swiped the medicine across his cheeks, blowing on it first so that the cold didn't startle him from his slumber. _We sure as hell can't tell them the truth. They'd want to know how you got away, who took the Joker down, why you didn't wait around for the police, and a million other things that we can't tell them._

Finished, he spun the lid back on the container and set it aside. _…Caffeine,_ he decided, knowing that if he didn't get some soon he would be putting himself at risk of falling back down next to his boy and sleeping the entire day away. _And I don't want to do that. Getting up late is one thing, but I want to actually spend time with him._ Making his way into the living area, he quickly placed an order for both coffee and more hot chocolate. _I'll let him sleep until it gets here,_ he thought as he returned to his side. _…Or not,_ came immediately afterwards as he noticed sleepy but bright eyes watching him approach.

"Hi," Dick mumbled with a smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," he answered as he stretched out alongside him and brushed a few stray locks off of his forehead. "Did you?" _That's the much more important question._

"Uh-huh," he nodded slightly.

"No bad dreams?" he verified.

"Just one."

_Goddamn it. You weren't supposed to have __any__…_ "What was it about?"

"It was weird," he wrinkled his nose. "It was almost the same dream I had about the plane-"

"Wait, you had a dream about it before you came here?" he interrupted, brow creasing. "…Is this related to what you said when you first got here? About not letting me get on the plane?"

"Yeah. It's _why_ I came here, actually. I…I had a dream that you were flying home this morning, and then your plane crashed and…" He met his guardian's gaze, biting his lower lip as it trembled. _And you died. And I was alone again. And I just __couldn't__, Bruce…_

_ Oh, Dicky. _He pulled him in closer and squeezed. "I'm right here," he murmured. "You're not alone, chum. It's okay."

"I know," he sniffled. "But I had to stop you. I mean, even if Uncle Clark follows the plane the whole way back to Gotham and nothing goes wrong with it, what if it _had_ crashed?"

"Hey, it's all right," he reassured him. "You did just fine, chum. Clark will take care of any problem that comes up with it, so you don't have to worry about that. And you're right here with me, which means we're both safe. Okay?"

"…Yeah," he dried his eyes. "So…anyway, this time it was almost the same dream, right? Except that for some reason the Joker was flying the plane. And…well…it ended like the first one, there was just a lot more creepy stuff said over the intercom before he flew into the ocean. On purpose," he added.

"…You know, I've never even thought about what we'd do if he managed to get into the cockpit of a passenger jet," Bruce realized with a trace of horror. _Of all the contingency plans I've made, how did I miss that one? I'm not sure how he'd even begin to manage getting on board an aircraft, he's much too recognizable, but still. Prior planning prevents poor performance, hypothetically._ "I've thought about other people pulling off a skyjacking, but not him."

"He'd be the most difficult because he's so unpredictable," Dick opined. "If he didn't have a parachute, though, I'll bet he wouldn't just crash the plane. Everything in his file suggests that the only real risk he takes with his life is goading Batman."

"…You're right," he smirked proudly. "We'll have to work on that plan." There was a knock at the door. "…But not right now. I ordered you some more hot chocolate," he answered the boy's cautious look at the unexpected interruption.

"Yay!" his slight frown turned instantly into a beaming grin. "I'll go hide." With that, he rolled over, flipped off the high bed, and walked soundlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

_Now I __know__ you're feeling better. There was almost a bounce there,_ the billionaire observed happily as he headed for the entrance. "Good morning," he greeted the server. "Don't they ever let you go home?" he asked jokingly, noting that it was the same young man who had served him every other time he'd ordered room service.

"Only on Tuesdays," the uniformed Belgian replied. His tone was good-natured, although he looked a little surprised that this previously distant-seeming guest was jesting with him.

Once he was gone, Bruce stood staring at the closed door for a moment. _I just joked with a hotel server,_ he sighed. _Dick, the things you make me do without even knowing it…_

"…Do you want me to pour it, or…?"

"I hope you were careful, coming out of the bathroom before you knew he was gone," he raised an eyebrow.

"I heard the door close," he shrugged. "If you turn off the light in the bathroom the fan goes off, too, so I could hear you talking." He grinned. "You told a joke to a complete stranger."

"I did _not_," he rebutted. "…Well, okay. Maybe a little one."

"Does that mean you're in a good mood today?"

Bruce watched him carefully wipe a small drip of chocolate off of one of the silver urns that had been left. After he stuck his finger in his mouth to lick the liquid off, he gazed up at his guardian expectantly. _Stay almost ten forever,_ he begged suddenly. _Please._ "…We have the whole day to spend together, just us," he answered finally. "That's enough to put even Batman in a pretty fine frame of mind."

"Good," the boy grinned back. "So what should we do today?"

"Well, I think first we should order breakfast, don't you?"

"…But that poor guy was _just_ here!"

"Yeah, I feel a little bad about that. I guess I should have waited to order our drinks," he said as he poured out a cup for each of them. "But I really needed coffee."

"Mmph…" Dick made a noise of agreement from behind the mug plastered to his face. "This is the best hot chocolate I've ever had that wasn't Alfred's…"

"You've got a chocolate mustache," Bruce chuckled.

"Do I?" He stuck his tongue out and cleaned it off. "…Did I get it all?"

He opened his mouth to tell him that he still had a spot right in the middle. _No,_ something stopped him. _It's adorable. Leave it._ "…Yup. You did."

"Really?" he looked suspicious. "You paused."

"If you don't believe me, go look in the mirror," he countered. _Don't go look in the mirror. Just leave it._

"No, I believe you," he ruled after another second.

"Good. Let's see what's for breakfast, huh?"

"…More cinnamon rolls?"

He laughed. "Sure. But Alfred will kill me if I feed you nothing but sugar, so let's order something at least remotely healthy, too."

As they pored over the room service menu, Dick's appetite sparked, and they ended up ordering a veritable feast. "There's no way anyone will believe I'm eating this all by myself," Bruce pointed out after he'd hung up the phone. "We need a story in case anyone asks."

"Well _that's_ easy," the child rolled his eyes as he leapt onto the couch. "You had a girl up for the night. Just say she stayed for breakfast before she left. Everyone will believe that."

The billionaire boggled. "…Ah, yes, they will, but I'm a little disturbed that you're so…_aware_ of that fact."

"Why? I can read, and you're out with a different girl every month according to the papers. Besides, people say things," he shrugged unconcernedly.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. Why would it?"

"…You do know what's implied in 'spending the night,' right?" _Did we have the sex talk? We can't have had, I'd remember that. He's had plenty of anatomy lessons, but we've never really discussed how things…fit together._

"Well, duh. I'm not five, Bruce. Although I already kinda knew about sex then, too, I think." Seeing the man's slightly disapproving look, he sighed. "It's hard to hide much in a sixteen-foot trailer, you know. It's not like my parents stopped sleeping together after I was born."

"…Good point," he allowed, coming over to sit down beside him. He draped his arm across the carved wood that crowned the back of the settee, then let it drop to encircle the boy's shoulders when he scooted in against his side. "…Tell me things, kiddo," he requested as he tilted his head back against the wall.

"What things do you want to hear?" Moments like this, when Bruce was relaxed and zeroed in on him, were his favorite. There was a quiet synergy between them at such times, an openness that left neither of them surprised that they could all but read each other's minds in more stressful situations. He snuggled closer with a happy little exhalation, and for a moment the pair looked remarkably like a nestling sitting contently beneath a protective parental wing.

"I don't know. Anything."

"Hmm…I think I finally know what I want to do for my birthday," he disclosed.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" He was in a state of mixed emotions about the coming Thursday. Part of him was looking forward to it, since his son's ninth birthday had been overshadowed partially by the fact of his parents' recent deaths and partially by his newness to the manor. This year, Bruce had sworn, would be a much more cheerful occasion. On the other hand, he was keenly aware that he had been present for barely a tenth of the boy's life, and here he was already passing into the double digits. _I wish I could have seen more of it,_ he lamented. _I wish I had been able to watch you grow up, before. It's all going too fast…I want to make it stop. I want more time._

"Well…I already invited Leslie, so I hope that's okay, but…could we just have some people over for, like, a big lunch and some cake? Like Barry, and Wally, and Leslie, and Uncle Clark?"

"…Aren't there any other _kids_ you want to invite?" he frowned slightly.

"Not really."

"…Dick, school isn't as bad as it was before, was it?" he asked, a note of dread in his voice.

"Huh? Oh, no way! It's much better, Bruce, honest. I just haven't been there very long, that's all. But no one teases me like Ricky did. People mostly just leave me alone unless they're assigned to work with me or they want help with homework or something."

_…Yeah, that sounds familiar,_ he recalled his own school days. "I used to have a name for that, you know," he said distantly.

"…Did you call it 'dead parents syndrome,' too? Because that's what I call it in my head."

"Well, mine was 'rich dead parents syndrome,' but…yeah, that's what I called it." They didn't speak for a minute. "So those are all the people you want to invite, huh?"

"I'd say Lucius, but…that's probably not a very good idea, since everyone else is either masked or knows about masks. You…you aren't going to be mean to Uncle Clark at my birthday, are you?" he queried.

"No," the billionaire replied quickly. "I'm…I can't find anything to blame him for, Dicky. I know he did his best, and that there were circumstances that he couldn't have foreseen. The fact that you and he obviously got pretty close this weekend is a _little_ upsetting, I'll admit, but…"

"But 'uncle' isn't 'daddy,'" Dick stated quietly.

_Exactly. _"…Yeah, chum," he managed past a sudden tightness in his throat.

"So who helped you figure all that out?"

"Who says anyone helped?" he answered, a little perturbed at the assumption that he couldn't sort his own emotions without assistance.

"I do, because I know how you are."

"…You're good, kid. I have to give you that," he squeezed him briefly. "It was Alfred."

"I should have known that," he shook his head.

"I'll let it slide this time," Bruce winked down at him. "But seriously, there are _no_ other kids you want to invite?"

"I don't really need any other kids around but Wally," came back matter-of-factly.

"You don't want anything more than a lunch? I mean, I'll bring in ponies and everything if you want. No clowns, though."

"Uck," he shuddered. "_No. _No clowns. Ever. And I don't need ponies and stuff. I just want to see some people that I like and have some good food."

A thought occurred to him. "…Is that how your birthdays used to be, chum? Food and friends?" he asked gently.

"I…yeah." He ducked his head. "And an elephant ride, but I don't expect you to get an elephant. It…it wouldn't be the _right_ elephant, anyway."

"Well, if that's what you want, kiddo, that's fine with me," he promised, his face slightly pinched with shared pain.

"Thanks." Another pensive moment passed before Dick exclaimed "Oh! We should invite J'onn and Diana, too. I almost forgot. They were both super nice – haha, 'super' nice, get it? - when I was at the mountain on Friday getting rehydrated. I mean, they're _always_ nice to me, but…"

"Anyone you want to come, kiddo. Just say the word." _'Super nice.' Punny child,_ he chuckled to himself."Out of pure curiosity, though, is there a particular reason you're cutting out two members of the JLA from the celebration?" It was more a passing observation than anything, but he couldn't keep from wondering at the boy's reasoning. _There might not even be any. Aquaman and Green Arrow have been around him far less than the others, he may not even have thought to invite them._

"Well, Aquaman's never around anyway," he pointed out. "And Green Arrow…I don't know. I kind of get the feeling that he's avoiding me on purpose."

_Strange,_ his lips curved downwards slightly. "Well, those are both good reasons," he said. _Why would he be avoiding you? Everyone adores you. They'd __better__ adore you, at least._

"…I'm not being mean by not inviting them, am I?"

"Dick, it's _your_ birthday. Who cares what they want?"

"Well, I don't want them to be mad about it."

"They won't be."

"…Okay. Besides, we've already got lots of people, so…yeah. I wonder what I should ask Alfred to make for lunch?"

"Anything you want to eat, chum," he encouraged.

"…Think I could get away with asking for _two_ cakes, since now there will be two digits in my age?" the boy asked slyly.

"It's worth a try. Wish I'd thought to try that when I turned ten." _Considering what I had to tell him last night, you could probably get him to make you three cakes if you passed one off as a reward for creative battle tactics._ Reminded, he switched topics. "I told him the basics on the phone last night," he revealed, "but I thought you might like to explain exactly _how_ you got away."

"Do you think he's going to be mad? I mean, that was pretty gross. Effective, but…gross."

"It saved your life, Dick. Neither he nor I will ever be mad at you for coming home alive. I can swear that to you with no qualms whatsoever." _And you'd better __always__ come home alive,_ he added to himself.

Their food came shortly thereafter, and they spoke little as they ate. Once the platters were picked over, Dick lounged against his guardian and flicked on the TV, settling finally on American cartoons dubbed over in French. Turning on the subtitles, he mouthed the words along with the characters, frowning from time to time when something he didn't recognize appeared. "…What?" he asked, catching the odd look Bruce was giving him. "My teacher said stuff like this will help develop my ear. If it's boring for you, we can find something else," he offered the remote.

The billionaire took it, but only to mute the show. "…Why are you taking French?" he inquired.

"…I wanted to learn it," he answered, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Why do you ask?"

"You already speak more languages than most adults in the US; I'm surprised that you decided to work on adding another one to the list."

"It's good, though, isn't it? I mean, this way I can talk to more people, and eavesdrop better in other countries, like if we ever have to go overseas for a mission. I thought you'd be happy I'm learning a language that a lot of people speak." His posture slumped disappointedly.

"Don't get me wrong, it _is_ good." _Ah, shit, now he looks upset._ "And I'm glad you're finding ways to work Robin training into your regular life. I just thought maybe there was another reason, that's all."

"…Oh. Well…there is another reason," he said slowly. "It's…mom spoke it. Really well, actually. She loved it, everything about it. She…she used to sing to me in French when I was sick, and…learning it seemed like a way to be closer to her, you know? And I know you speak it, too…" he trailed off.

"…Dick," he whispered, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't," he countered. "It isn't, because…I only speak French because of _my_ mother. She forced me to study it, at first, but…" _But then Alfred said afterwards that if I kept learning it might help me stay connected to her memory. So I did, and…and now you're doing the same thing, almost. Jesus…_ "She loved it, too."

"…Did she sing to you, too?"

"Yeah, chum. She did."

"That's so cool, Bruce," he smiled sadly up at him. "It's one more thing we have in common."

"It is," he agreed. "…And kiddo?"

"Hmm?"

"We can practice any time you want, okay?"

His eyes widened joyfully. "Really?!"

"You bet."

"…Does Alfred speak French?" he inquired.

The billionaire laughed. "Only when absolutely necessary, he always says."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense," he joined in. "Bruce? Do-" A cell phone rang, cutting him off. "…Uh-oh," he breathed, leaping off of the couch.

"What?"

"…I forgot to give Uncle Clark his phone back," he called back as he sprinted for where Bruce had piled all of his dried clothes before taking a shower. _Crap, it's an unknown number. Umm…_ "Hello?" he ventured.

"I _think_ you may have forgotten to give me my phone back, pal," the Kryptonian's amused voice reached his ear.

"I'm _so_ sorry, I _just_ realized when you called. I almost didn't answer because it said it didn't know the number, and I was afraid it was somebody looking for you," he apologized in a rush.

"It's all right, don't worry about it. I've been a little busy, in any case. Before you say anything, are the phones downstairs secured lines?"

"…Uncle Clark, that's a really silly question."

"I thought it was, but I wanted to make sure. The plane is safe."

"So my dream was totally wrong?" he asked.

"Weeeell…no. Not totally. They, ah…they did have engine trouble. Twice. But I maintained altitude for them until they got them restarted."

"Oh, good," he sighed, relieved. "…The plane's okay," he told Bruce, who had followed him into the room and was leaning against the doorway, listening. "Thanks a ton, Uncle Clark."

"No problem. Hey, ah…any idea how much trouble I'm in? I understand if you can't say anything."

"Here. Ask him yourself." He shoved the phone at the billionaire. "He wants to know if you're going to kill him or not."

"…Clark."

"…Hi, Bruce."

He let him stew until Dick sent him a look. "The combined efforts of Alfred and a certain soon-to-be-ten-year-old have convinced me that you weren't to blame for the events of the past few days," he said finally. "…The kryptonite stays in its hiding place."

"Are you ever going to let me near him again?"

"You sound more concerned about that than you did about whether or not I was planning to make an attempt on your life," he noted. Seeing his son's increasingly concerned expression, he tipped him a wink to let him know he was just leading the other man on.

"…Would you be angry at me if I told you I almost am?"

"No. I'd invite you to his birthday party next Saturday."

"…Really? Because to be honest, Bruce, I can't tell if you're being serious or sarcastic right now." His words indicated uncertainty, but the happy smile he was wearing came out in his tone.

"I don't have time to play games with you right now, Clark. I've got someone else here I'd _much_ rather be talking to. So, it's up to you. Either be at the house next Saturday at eleven, or don't be. If you _aren't_, we'll be rediscussing the kryptonite." He smirked through the entire monologue, letting it carry through to his voice. "Also, be here at four thirty tomorrow morning to pick up your would-be nephew." He tossed the phone back to a pleasantly surprised-looking Dick. "Well, come on, hurry up and say goodbye. We have cartoons to watch."

"…Hello?"

"I don't know what you did, pal," he heard an almost-teary voice say, "but thank you."

"…Sure, Uncle Clark," he beamed. "Any time."

**Author's Note: There should be just two chapters left now. Happy reading!**


	26. Chapter 26

The remainder of the day went too fast. The state of Dick's face and the fact that there was no paper trail to back up how he got to Bruges made it impossible for them to leave the room; nevertheless, they found plenty to entertain themselves with. Cartoons quickly became boring, and they spent most of the afternoon and evening watching a channel that showed nothing but black and white crime films back to back, some in English, some in French. During the commercial breaks they talked procedure, motive, method, and evidence, and tried to predict what would happen next in the story. As they approached the dinner hour, they were tied, each having correctly predicted the ending of one film and having reached the same accurate conclusion simultaneously on the third.

Their evening meal was far from a solemn affair, eaten on the couch in front of the screen. Through some sequence of events that they never really managed to untangle, things devolved into a minor food fight that only ended when Bruce pinned the giggling boy to the floor. "Seriously," he intoned, the sternness of his words rendered invalid by the sloppy grin on his face. "Stop. Think about the poor housekeepers."

"Ooh…yeah, okay. I forgot about them," he agreed, suddenly looking contrite. "…What?" he inquired at the man's suddenly strange expression.

The billionaire raised a hand to the side of his head to investigate an odd sensation. "…Jesus, Dick, how did you manage to get potatoes in my _ear_?" he marveled.

That question sent them both back into peals of laughter. When they'd recovered and cleaned up, they resumed their movie marathon, Bruce finally managing to edge his son out with another win, followed by a tie. The child was no longer even attempting to stifle his yawns by eleven, and the billionaire was forced to admit that their day together was swiftly drawing to a close. "…You should get some sleep, kiddo," he said quietly.

"But we still have, like, five whole hours before I have to go…" was mumbled back. "I don't wanna waste it."

"It's not wasting it if you need to sleep, Dick. Besides, Alfred's going to have a cow if he gets home tomorrow afternoon and you're still in bed."

"…What time should he be there by?"

"Ahh…" he checked his phone, pulling up the email the butler had sent a few hours earlier with his itinerary. "He lands at noon, so he should be home by one thirty. If you stay up until Clark comes to get you, you'll never wake up in time."

"Well, I _have_ been sick," he suggested. "I'll just say I'm still getting better."

"Recuperating?"

"Yeah. That," he nodded, filing away the word for later use.

"He knows you've been with me all day. Do you really think he'll buy that story?"

"…No. But I don't think he'll be mad at me for wanting to spend time with you, either." He peered up at his guardian through his eyelashes, pouting slightly. "_Please_?"

Bruce sighed. "…What if we both lay down, and we can talk until one of us falls asleep?" he suggested.

"Are you even _tired_?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But like you said, you're still catching up on energy after being sick. You really need to sleep, chum. If it helps, though, remember that I'll be home tomorrow before you go to bed. In _fact_, if Alfred holds dinner for a little bit we'll even get to eat together. So we'll only be apart for about twelve hours, really. And then we have all weekend together, for your birthday."

"…You're _really_ not going to do any work next weekend?" the boy asked seriously. _You say that before a lot of weekends, and then you end up working anyway. I just don't want to get my hopes up…_

The mild skepticism in his voice made Bruce wince. _I'm sorry. I know I'm bad about working at home, I just…I don't know. There's no excuse for it, really._ _But __this__ weekend, I don't care what needs signed. It will wait._ "Hey," he tipped his chin up with one finger until their eyes met. "It's your birthday weekend. I'll even shut my cell phone off, how about that?"

Dick's eyes widened. "You _never_ shut that thing off."

"I'm going to, for your birthday weekend. If someone wants me that badly, they'll have to call the house, and then they'll _still_ have to get through Alfred to talk to me."

He grinned happily. "Yay! What're we going to do next Sunday, if the party's Saturday?"

"Whatever you want. It's _your_ birthday. So start thinking about it."

"I hope there's still snow then…" he said wistfully as he crawled up into the man's lap and leaned his head against his shoulder. "We could ride our snowmachines."

"Mm, maybe. We'll see if there's enough." He wondered briefly if weather control was considered villainous if you only did it so your kid could have snow on their birthday. _It probably still counts,_ he decided grudgingly. _But we never get good snow in March. It's all that wet, nasty stuff that melts in a few hours and then turns to ice on the roads._ Glancing down as he prepared to instruct him not to hold his breath for snowmachining, he found that the small figure in his arms was fast asleep. _Well, that was quick,_ he smiled. _Bedtime. If you went that easily, I don't think there's much risk of you waking up on the trip into the bedroom._

Indeed, Dick didn't so much as stir or give a mumble until his guardian had tucked him tightly beneath the blankets and was crawling in beside him, content with the idea of simply lying with him for a while. "…Bruce?" he murmured without looking.

"What is it, kiddo?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to listen.

"…Love you."

He bit the inside of his cheek hard, then brushed a kiss across his forehead. "Sleep tight, baby," he whispered, resting one hand on his shoulder and dropping his own head back to the pillow.

_But I'm not tired,_ was the next conscious thought the billionaire had. Confusion shook him for a moment before he realized that he was in Bruges, that someone was knocking lightly on the balcony door, and most importantly, that his son was still sleeping, safe and sound, beside him. _Stop knocking, you idiot, you're going to wake him up,_ he cursed as he got up and moved silently to let Superman in.

"Oh. Sorry," the Kryptonian apologized as he saw the darkness in the room and the disheveled state of Bruce's hair. "…You said four thirty, though."

"I know what I said," he answered a little testily. _I fell asleep without setting an alarm. Shit._

"…We could let him sleep a while longer. I don't have anywhere to be, other than watching him until you or Alfred gets home."

"Yeah. Let's do that. Come on, if we keep talking in here he's likely to wake up." An order of coffee was easy to procure in short order so early in the day, and Clark agreed to a cup once he was able to emerge from hiding in the bathroom. They spoke more or less amicably as they sipped. Midway through his second cup, Bruce set his mug down and pulled his brows together in a look of intense concentration. "…Clark."

"Yes?"

_Oh, hell, how do I do this? _"…I owe you an apology."

_Whoa. What did they put in this coffee? _"Umm…Bruce…stop. Don't say anything else."

"No," he said firmly. "I do." _I was an asshole. You probably didn't deserve that, or at least that's what Alfred and Dick keep indicating. My social skills are frequently inferior to theirs, so…if they say you did nothing wrong, they're probably right._

"_No_, Bruce, really. If Batman apologizes to Superman for something, the world might explode."

"…Did you intend that as a joke?" he asked, thrown off slightly. _He can't be serious. How would that even be monitored?_

"Yeah…I guess I don't have Barry's finesse for them."

"You don't have his delivery. I'm pretty sure he practices one-liners in the mirror, then just waits for the opportune moment to use them."

"You mean you don't _know_ that he does that? It seems like the kind of thing you'd want in a file," he glanced over at him with a twinkle in his eye.

"I don't say I'm 'pretty sure' about something without evidence."

"So you _do_ know." He paused. "You have the strangest hobbies."

"Thank you."

It wasn't said in the sarcastic tone he'd expected, and he turned his head with a frown to look at the other man. "What?"

"Thank you. If you won't let me apologize, at least let me express some gratitude. You…you didn't do a bad job watching Dick."

"I have to admit, I felt like I was doing a _terrible_ job."

"He's alive, he's happy, he's relatively unharmed, and I assume that my house is still standing. A bad job would have resulted in one or more of those things not being true." Swirling his coffee gently in the cup, he stared down into small vortex the motion created. "…And not even Batman can prevent all of them all the time," he added quietly, a trace of self-loathing in his voice.

"Those times aren't your fault. We do dangerous work; he does it very well, from what I've seen and heard, but he's still going to get hurt." Noticing that his friend's gaze was still riveted on his drink, he repeated himself. "Those times won't be your fault."

"Yes, Clark, they will," he argued slowly.

"How? You would do _anything_ to keep him safe. How will it be your fault if the circumstances make it impossible for you to do that? You can only work with the information you have at the moment, Bruce, you know that. _Actually,_ he reflected, _I think you may have been the first person who ever said that to me._

"I'm the one who let him create Robin. I'm the one who lets him continue to _be_ Robin. If he gets hurt as Robin, then it's my fault."

_And there is absolutely nothing I can say to that,_ the Kryptonian thought. _Even if there was, you wouldn't believe me. You've always been a stubborn jackass when it comes to blaming yourself for things, even when you have no guilt to bear._ "I'm not going to argue with you about it, Bruce," he said after a short silence. "We've done enough of that lately. I'm kind of sick of it."

"…Yeah. Well." He stood up. "…I'll go get him ready." A hand capable of crushing bones grabbed his wrist gently as he passed. "…What?" he asked, more curious than gruff as he looked down quizzically.

"I owe you thanks, too," Superman said quietly. "For not cutting me out of his life, or yours. I'm not sure I could have blamed you if you had; all I know is that I'm glad I don't have to find out for sure."

"Clark…" he trailed off, looking away. _Christ. Why do you always have to make things difficult?_ he snarked without ire. "…Just help me keep him safe. That's all I ask." _It's all I seem to care about anymore, to be honest._

"You know I will," he swore.

"Yeah," he met his gaze for a second. "I do." Released, he disappeared into the bedroom.

Dick woke up exactly long enough to put on his jacket and give his guardian an extended goodbye hug before falling back asleep in Superman's grasp. "I'll put him straight to bed," he assured the man who trailed him out onto the balcony, eyes never leaving the shock of dark hair he could see over the hero's shoulder.

"Good. Alfred should be home in the early afternoon. Don't worry about the school, I'll call them from here and tell them he'll be out again today."

"…Do you still have my phone?"

"It's in his coat pocket."

"Oh. Okay. Clear on your side?" he asked, his voice dropping.

Bruce glanced over the balustrade at the street below. "Yes."

"See you later." In a blink, they'd gone. Bruce stared up at the stars for a long moment, then went back into the already empty-seeming room, a hint of longing already lingering about his eyes.

The boy slept until late morning, opening his eyes to find himself home and in his guardian's bed. _Crud. I missed getting to fly with Uncle Clark,_ he pouted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. _But,_ his mood brightened as he read the clock, _Bruce will be home in less than eight hours. And Alfred will be home before that, even._ With those facts in mind, he skipped down the hall to the room the Kryptonian was always assigned. "Knock knock," he beamed, peeking around the corner at him.

"Morning, pal," he turned away from the window to find a pair of happy blue eyes regarding him. "Hungry?"

"Yup!"

"…Cereal?" he asked hopefully. _Just because I didn't ruin pancakes doesn't mean I have any confidence in my ability to repeat that miracle with other foods._

"Sure." He peered around. "…It's funny. I just realized something while I was standing here."

"What's that?"

"Well, people don't really stay over here very often. Usually it's the night after a big party or something, you know, one of Bruce's 'look at me, I refuse to act my age because I'm rich' celebrations."

Clark laughed. "Okay, go on," he encouraged. _Where could he possibly be heading with this?_

"I mean, I've only been here for two of those, but…Alfred never shows anyone but you to this room."

"…Really?" he asked, astounded. _First of all, you must be paying ridiculous amounts of attention to have even noticed that. Second…what does that mean?_ As he puzzled, the answer was given to him.

"It's cool. You have your own room here."

_…I guess that __is__ what it means._ The idea drew a broad grin across his lips. "You're right, Dick. That _is_ cool."

"I thought so," he shrugged. "Could you help me with breakfast? I can't reach the cereal cabinet, and Alfred doesn't like it when I climb on the counters to get to it."

"You bet, pal. Let's go."

By the time he'd breakfasted, showered, and dragged an unusually reluctant Clark outside to feed Gobblehead, it was after one. _I just can't shake my feeling that there's something not right about that turkey,_ the Kryptonian thought as he watched the boy shuck off his jacket and boots in the foyer. _I'm going to have to spend some time going back over the files we have on that mission. I don't know __how__ one of them could have slipped through the cracks, but…I don't want to brush it off and regret it later, either._

"…Do you mind if I wait on the stairs? Alfred should be home in, like, the next twenty minutes," Dick's question interrupted his musing.

"I don't mind," he shook his head. "Would you like company?"

"Sure," he nodded eagerly.

They talked to pass the time, their conversation coming easily after the travails they'd faced over the weekend. Realizing that he hadn't purchased a birthday present for a child since becoming an adult himself and as such had no idea what kids even liked these days, Clark tried to glean something from their discussions, but met with little success. _…I'll just ask Alfred, he'll know,_ he decided. _Bruce would probably have some thoughts, too. After all, the snowmachine was his idea, and it was a hit._

A car door closed outside, and the child's head swiveled instantly to the door. "…Eep!" he squeaked, vaulting smoothly over the banister beside him. In an instant he was at the front door, his hand on the knob. _Crap! _he stopped himself._ I can't go outside, the taxi driver might see the bruises on my face!_ Pouting, he took a few steps backwards and waited, bouncing impatiently.

Finally, _finally_, the door cracked open. Hearing a vehicle pull away down the driveway, he dashed forward and yanked it the rest of the way, confident that it was relatively safe to do so. "Alfred!" he all but squealed as the bag-laden Englishman entered.

"Here," Clark offered, coming forward and relieving the butler of his luggage. "I get the feeling you're going to have your hands full in a second. By the stairs okay?"

"Yes, Mister Kent, thank you very much." He turned, biting back a deliriously happy grin, to find his younger charge practically shaking with suppressed excitement. _Oh, my, those bruises are truly dreadful,_ his heart sank as he took them in._ And to think, they've been being treated for two days now and still look like that…Poor, precious child. _"Come here, my boy," he invited. The words weren't completely out of his mouth before Dick was on him, arms wrapped around his neck.

"I missed you."

_Good lord, five seconds into the house and I'm already on the verge of tears,_ Alfred noted silently. "I missed you as well, Master Dick," he squeezed him tightly for a second before setting him down. "…Were you good for Mister Kent?" he asked, sniffling discreetly.

"I think so. Other than the throwing up every other minute."

"That wasn't your fault," Clark threw in. _I know Bruce doesn't set a very good example of how to forgive yourself, but please don't fall into the same trap that seems to have him in a death grip._

"No, I daresay not. Nor the Joker incident," the older man added. "I am very glad to hear you behaved, however. Did you come as a civilian?" he addressed the last to the Kryptonian.

"Yes. Now that I know one of you has made it back, I'll book a flight home."

"Well, your taking the time to watch the young master was very much appreciated. You are, of course, welcome to stay the night," he offered sincerely. "I believe I have some pork spareribs in the freezer that I could have thawed and ready by the time Master Wayne arrives." He knew Clark technically had no need to eat, but he had also never met a farm boy who could resist a well-cooked batch of ribs. _It's the least I can do to thank him for his extraordinary efforts this weekend._

The suggestion of the main course froze his polite refusal on the tip of his tongue. "…Pork spareribs?" he asked slowly, his mouth already watering.

"I should have some quite excellent potatoes for roasting, as well."

_God, when was the last time I had a good sparerib? Restaurants never quite manage to keep them juicy enough… _"Ah…I will most definitely take you up on that offer. For dinner, at least; if I can get a late flight back to Metropolis, I will, though. The last thing you all need is an extra person hanging around the night everyone gets home."

"…Uncle Clark, you're being silly again," Dick informed him matter-of-factly. "You're not an 'extra person,'" he made air quotes with his fingers. "You have your own room already and everything!"

"I don't advise referring to it as such in Master Wayne's hearing, young sir," Alfred cautioned. "Even if it is the truth," both heard him add under his breath.

"I won't, but…stay, Uncle Clark? Please?" he begged, skipping up and grabbing his hand. "Please?"

"…How do you _ever _say no to him?" the younger man asked the Englishman plaintively.

"It takes a great deal of resolve," his lip twitched upwards. "So much, in fact, that neither Master Wayne nor myself are able to do it with much frequency. It's quite draining. Of course, it does help that most of his requests are reasonable." He let a beat pass. "You'd be no bother, Mister Kent, truly."

"Besides, you and Bruce need more time to talk now that you're friends again," Dick pointed out.

"…You've got a point there, pal," he agreed. "Okay, you win. I'll stay. Thank you for the invitation, Alfred."

"Not at all, sir. It is you who are owed the thanks." He rubbed his hands together. "Well. I've a fair bit of work to catch up on, I can see that much already. However," he allowed, "it has already been a long day, and it promises to stretch fairly late into the night. I believe I'll have a cup of tea before I begin. Would the pair of you care to join me? I have yet to hear how you escaped the Joker's clutches, Master Dick," he said as lightly as he could manage. _It still takes my breath away to imagine him in the hands of that…man,_ he grimaced internally. _And as for his escape…well. I'm sure it will be as impressive as his other escapades in the face of danger have been._

He wasn't proven wrong. When the boy informed him twenty minutes later of the form his only weapon had taken, he nearly choked on his tea. "You…" he trailed off, unable to cover up his amazement for several seconds. "Mister Kent, is this true? Don't get me wrong, young sir, I'm certain that it is, but…truthfully? You _vomited_ on one of Gotham's foulest fiends?"

"It's true," Clark verified. "And he was…ah...right on target."

"I didn't have anything else," Dick blushed. "He was about to stab me in the face, I had to do _something_!"

"Of course you did," Alfred replied immediately, a shudder running down his spine as he heard what the villain had been preparing to do at the moment his victim had launched his counterassault. _It's an utterly disgusting image,_ he wrinkled his nose mentally, _but it exhibits quite the cool head under fire._ "You did marvelously well. I'm very proud of your resourcefulness. And," he admitted, somewhat delighted at the thought of the man who had brought so much stress and pain to his elder charge over the years being defeated in such a crude manner, "of your aim. The Joker quite deserved what he got, and then some."

"Oh, good," the boy looked relieved. "I was _super_ worried you'd be upset."

"Not in the least," he denied, shaking his head before he drained his cup. "Now," he said, brushing off his hands as he rose from his chair. "Who wants cookies?"


	27. Chapter 27

Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. _Good,_ Bruce thought as he peeked out of his bedroom window before going to shower. _So long as it stays that way through the afternoon, everything should be perfect. He deserves to have the best birthday I can possibly give him. _He paused. _I still wish I could guarantee the weather, though._

Unable to wait to see his face, Batman had given Robin his birthday gift right before patrol the previous night. The boy had been delighted with the down-scaled grappling gun; he'd been using a spare of his mentor's since his first night out, but it was really too big for him. The elder vigilante had noticed on numerous occasions that he had to hold it awkwardly or with both hands in order to keep a good grip on the handle, and that had disturbed him. _He could more easily fall that way,_ he'd fretted, _or it could affect his aim and result in him not getting a solid base to swing from. _With those concerns in mind, he had focused on making the tool in more appropriate size. For fun – it _was_ a birthday present, after all - he'd added a new feature; zip-lining.

"…Wait," Robin asked, his already deliriously happy grin spreading wider when he was informed of this extra capability. "You mean there's a second hook that come out of the bottom of the grip?"

"There is," he leaned forward to show him. "See this switch?" he indicated a small lever just in front of the trigger. "Right now it's on grapple, so it works just like your old one. But if you switch it over," he demonstrated, "it changes configuration." As he spoke, the grip slid up to lie behind the barrel, creating a straight tube with a trigger sticking out of the bottom. "It fires the main line with the first pull and the backup line with the second. You can hold on and slide between buildings easily. Once you've landed, just pull the trigger a third time, and it will retract both lines. When you're ready to go back to grappling, all you have to do is push the switch back."

He looked up to find his son gaping. "…That is the _coolest_ _thing ever_," Robin breathed. "Can I try it out tonight?" he begged. He normally wasn't allowed to take new equipment out in the field until he'd worked with it at home to his mentor's satisfaction, but he hoped an exception would be made in this instance. _KF's going to be __so__ jealous…heck, I'm kind of jealous of myself…_

"If it's a slow night," Batman allowed, "we'll break off a little early and go downtown so you can practice zip-lining and switching between modes. The different shapes should help you remember which one you have it set to, but I want you to keep it on grapple _only_ until I tell you otherwise. Understood?" _The last thing I want is for you to be mid-swing, think you're retracting your line, and end up firing the second one,_ the cowled man suppressed a shudder. _You could slam into a building and fall, you could hit yourself with it…no. Practice first._

"I will," he promised, taking his present reverently from a gauntleted hand and slipping it into his belt. "Here's this one back," he passed over the much larger apparatus he'd been using. Then he jumped up and gave the black-clad figure a tight hug. "Thank you. This is already an amazing birthday weekend."

The standard-issue Batman grimace softened. "I'm glad."

The child dropped back to the floor, already bouncing, his hand reaching back every few seconds to touch the new addition to his arsenal. "Can we go bust some bad guys now?" he asked eagerly.

_That_ earned him a smirk. _That's my boy. _"Absolutely."

And 'bust bad guys' they had. Three muggings, an attempted rape, two robberies, and a drug dealer later, it was approaching one in the morning. Batman had been remarkably pleased with his protégé's performance, and had consented to let him take down the last muggers, who were working in a pair, by himself. Crouched low on a rooftop above, tensed to leap if he seemed to be needed, he watched Robin knock the first man out with his surprise attack, then launch a batarang at the second when he tried to flee. It was over in seconds. The boy reassured the victim and zip-tied the crooks, and only then did Batman drop down to join him. "The police will be here soon," he rasped at the man who sat dazedly between two puddles, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Stay here. These two won't hurt you now."

"Here's your wallet back, Mister Sanchez," Robin chirped, appearing at his mentor's side and holding out the billfold the criminals had been tearing apart a minute before. "I'm pretty sure I got everything that they threw around."

"I…I…you…I…"

"No problem," the boy smiled. The both he and the taller figure rose into the night so quickly that they seemed to simply vanish.

"…Master Wayne?" Alfred's voice interrupted the billionaire's reminiscing. "It's nine thirty, sir. Shall I wake Master Dick? His guests will begin arriving in an hour or so."

"I'll get him," Bruce shook his head. "Is everything set for this afternoon?"

"It is. The zoo was quite accommodating. I understand that the elephant keeper learned much of his handling in a circus. Not Haly's," he added, seeing the other man's expression. "I was certain to check on that."

"Okay, good."

"I'll determine an outfit for you in your absence, then. Unless," his eyes twinkled amusedly, "you would prefer to have the young master assist you with that this morning?" He'd chuckled when he'd heard about Dick's having helped pick out Bruce's trip attire. Unpacking his employer's suitcases, however, his amusement had turned to pleasure. _The boy seems to have a decent eye for fashion._ _Well, we'll have to begin our lessons in that realm a bit sooner than I had anticipated, then_, he'd mused.

"No, that's fine."

"Very well, sir."

Across the hall, he slipped into his son's bedroom and ghosted to the bed. _Why are you so cute when you're sleeping? It makes it really hard to wake you up, you know._ "Dicky," he said quietly, tracing up and down one extended arm with his fingertips. "Wake up, kiddo. It's party day."

"Mmhm…" He didn't open his eyes.

"Come on, little bird, you have to wake up and get ready."

"Okay," he nodded, scooting closer and laying his head on Bruce's knee.

"…You can't wake up unless you open your eyes, chum," he laughed gently.

"Huh?" He peered up blearily. "…Hi."

"Hi," he arched an eyebrow back at him. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"No bad dreams?"

"Nope. You?"

"None." _Well __that's__ a rare thing. A night when neither of us had bad dreams, and we weren't even in the same room…_ "I need you to help me with something," he added, stroking tousled dark hair.

"What is it?"

"This," he pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his pajama pants and held it in front of his eyes.

"…Your phone?"

"I want you to turn it off."

"...Are you _sure_, Bruce? I…I understand if you can't," he said obligingly.

"I promised you that I would turn it off this weekend. And to make sure that I _keep_ that promise, I'm giving it to you to hold for me. I don't want it back until I tuck you in tomorrow night."

The boy turned and gave his guardian a brilliant grin. "You're so awesome," he informed him.

"…Thanks, chum," he gave him one of his special 'Dick only' smiles. "Now, rid me of this troublesome phone." The child gave him a quizzical look. "…Shakespeare? No?"

"Huh-uh. Mom read me 'Midsummer Night's Dream' once, though."

"Well, that's sort of a half a line from 'King John,'" the billionaire informed him. "I just updated it to fit the situation."

"So…you meant it as a joke? Because I totally didn't get it."

"I know," he chuckled. "That's okay." _Let me know more than you for a few more years, at least, huh?_

Dick took the phone from him then, and they both watched as the screen flashed with the Wayne Enterprises logo before going blank. "…You made your own civilian phone?" he asked, smirking.

"Marketing ploy. What if some society reporter found out I use a Nokia or something?"

"…They'd think you like things that last forever?"

"People would stop buying the phones _we_ make," he corrected, tickling him playfully. "So," he asked casually when their brief scuffle ended, "where are you going to keep it?"

"I'm not going to tell you that!" he exclaimed, giving the man a look that said 'duh' in every language.

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because if you know where it is you'll try and sneak in and check it. You _know_ you will. This way, you can't break your promise, see?"

"…Yeah. Okay. That's probably a good idea," he agreed, forced to concede that he would try to see if he had any messages at least once in the next day and half if he knew where it was being kept. "I would have at least waited until you were asleep, though," he claimed.

"Maybe," the child nodded, his voice knowing as he finally sat up. "…But now you don't have to worry."

_You're here with me, safe. No, I don't have to worry. Not at this very moment, at least._ "Good. Let's keep it that way."

Everyone except Leslie was arriving via the Zeta tube, so once they were both attired for the day's activities Bruce and Dick went down to the cave to wait. Of the people who had been invited, only J'onn had turned down the invitation, citing an unavoidable off-world engagement with real reluctance.

"Uh…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…Does the fact that we're not going to be eating lunch in masks mean that Wonder Woman knows who you really are?"

"She does," he nodded. "…She and Superman were the first to, ah, find out."

"Oh. How did that happen?" _Somehow I don't see you giving that information up any more easily the first time than you do now._

"…It's a long story, chum. I'll tell you another time."

"Yeah. For now, you've got a party to be the star of," Barry's voice cut in as Dick was lifted off of his feet by a blur that could be nothing other than Wally.

"Whoooooaa, dude, put me doooown…" Dick giggled as the room spun around. His feet hit the floor after another couple of spins, and he stood blinking hard as the other boy came into focus. "…Wait, you guys wore your costumes?" he frowned.

"_That's_ the first thing you noticed, not the awesomely wrapped birthday present?" the redhead rolled his eyes, grinning as he dashed to his uncle and returned bearing something boxy and covered in no less than three different patterns of paper.

"I assume he did the job himself?" Bruce asked the elder speedster as he drew up beside him.

"Nah, for a high-class party like this? We paid one of those designer gift gurus to do it. Clashing patterns and loose corners are all the rage right now, apparently." The billionaire gave a little amused 'heh.' _Hey, he's even in a good mood today,_ Barry considered. _Excellent._ "The layer of tape holding everything together cost extra. Price of petroleum's up with summer on the way, you know." That drew a near-snicker. _A __very__ good mood. Well, he should be, it's his kid's birthday party. _"…His face looks a lot better than what you described on the phone," he commented in a low voice as they watched their boys make their way to the costume area. Bruce had called late Tuesday to extend the party invitations, and when he'd inquired as to whether or not the 'mini-Bat' was feeling any better, one thing had led to another and the whole story of Dick's encounter with the Joker had come out.

"J'onn's bruise cream." His cheeks had still borne visible traces of yellow edged with sickly green until shortly before Friday's dinner. This morning, however, his skin was more or less clear; one had to know what they were looking for to spot the last remnants of discoloration. "I had to call him out of school Wednesday, too. There was no way to cover it up without making him look like a cheap prostitute."

"Yeah, I remember you saying you thought you might have to." He shook his head, laughing. "…I still can't believe he threw up on the Joker. I've never even met the creep, but from what you told me he _deserved_ a faceful of puke."

"And then some," Bruce glowered. _I hope he caught that nasty flu while he was at it. Knock him right on his ass. I'll bet vomiting would feel just __great__ with a concussion…_

The Zeta tube announced Superman, who glanced around, spotted the other two, and came forward to join them. "…Did they sneak off already?" he asked.

"It doesn't take long with Wally," Barry shrugged.

"And if Dick's coordinating the hiding, we'll never find them," Bruce threw in.

"Eh, let them go," the speedster shrugged. "They haven't seen each other in like three weeks. We probably don't want to listen to them talking over each other while they catch up anyway."

"…You know, Wally never answered Dick's question earlier. Why _are_ you two in costume?"

"That's my fault," Superman said quickly. "I had already scheduled kind of a meet and greet with Black Canary and some of the others for this morning, and asked Barry to bring Wally with him. I was thinking that new members need to understand about the kids from day one to avoid any…misunderstandings," he finished. He had made it a point to have a talk with Green Arrow earlier in the week, just to feel out the man's feelings about the young protégés of Batman and Flash. As J'onn had stated, Ollie didn't believe that they would last, and while he did like them based on what he'd heard and the very little he'd seen, he didn't want to become invested only to have some tragedy strike in the near future. Realizing that two crime-fighting children wasn't something it would be wise to spring on someone just coming into the League, Superman had been careful to explain the situation to their newest member.

"…Why wasn't I informed of this 'meet and greet'?"

"Because we didn't want to scare her away, obviously," Barry contributed.

"She saw me at her interview," Bruce rebutted. "I didn't scare her then."

"Yeah, but you didn't actually say anything, either," came back.

"I also thought you might not want to be bothered with it this weekend," Clark explained. "…Plus, it won't hurt anything for her to get used to the idea of Kid Flash before she encounters Robin."

"…Did she seem to have a _problem_ with the idea of Kid Flash?"

"No, but still. Robin's obviously younger, and then on top of that he doesn't even look the age that he is. I didn't want to shock her too much, not on her first tour of the mountain."

"She seemed all right to me. I mean, I voted for her based on her accomplishments, but she's a nice person, too," Barry shrugged. "She and Green Arrow were eyeing each other pretty hard, though," he smirked.

"The more members we accept, the less likely it is that relationships won't develop," the Kryptonian sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge anyone their happiness, but it could cause problems."

"Eh, since when have there _not_ been problems in the ranks, though? I mean, really? Someone's always irked at someone else. It happens," the speedster waved it off. "She's a good candidate. It'll be fine."

"…She is a good candidate," Bruce agreed. Despite the fact that Batman usually argued against expanding the League for the simple reason that he believed having too many allies was a good way to give secrets to an enemy, Black Canary had seemed trustworthy and able. As such, he had voted to let her in, earning surprised looks from virtually everyone. Only Wonder Woman, whose hand had gone into the air enthusiastically the moment the question was called, had given him a glance that wasn't laced with shock. "…But if she has a problem with the boys, she needs to get over it. They're not going anywhere."

"Give it time. She took it well, I don't think it will be a problem."

"Am I late?" Diana asked a second later as her designation faded away. "I'm sorry, I got caught up. Where's the birthday boy?"

"Well, he's with Wally, so they could be in China by now," Barry joked.

"They'll be back by the gear. I'll get them," Bruce motioned for the others to stay where they were. _There's no reason to let them see all of the tool arrays, especially since some of these things were designed specifically to counter their abilities._ Peeking around the corner of a shelving unit, he found the boys gabbing excitedly over Robin's birthday present.

"Dude, how did he even _make_ that? It's genius!" Wally handled the grappling gun carefully.

"He's just amazing like that," Dick shrugged, smiling softly.

"We should _totally_ see if they'll let us hang out in the training section of the mountain while they're in their meeting next weekend. Maybe you could…you know…test it out some more?" The hopeful look on his face made it obvious that he was angling for a zip-line ride.

The raven-haired child laughed. "You're so transparent, Wally."

"…Is that a bad thing?" the young speedster frowned.

"Not to me, it isn't. I like it. There's no guile in you; I never have to worry about whether you're telling me what you _really_ think, because it's right there on your face."

"Oh!" he grinned. "Cool."

"Boys," Bruce said quietly, stepping into view. "The others are here."

"You know what that means, Wals?" Dick nudged his friend.

"What?"

"Lunch time."

"_Yes!_ Want a lift?"

"…It's like thirty feet back to everyone else. But you should probably go ahead and get changed. I'll walk back with Bruce."

"Okay," the redhead shrugged, zipping away.

"…What's up, chum?" the billionaire asked when they were alone, sensing that his son had sent the other boy away for a reason.

"I…" he came closer, only stopping when they were almost toe-to-toe. Craning his head back, he met his guardian's eyes. "I never got a chance to thank you."

"For what?"

"For…everything. I mean…a couple of weeks ago it was one year since I came here, and I meant to say something then, but…I just couldn't. So I thought maybe it would be okay if I did it now?"

…_Oh, Dicky…_ He crouched down in front of him. "No. It isn't okay, because you shouldn't be thanking me. I should be thanking you." Cupping his cheek, he went on. "This has been the first happy year that I have had since I was younger than you are now. There is _nothing_ I can offer you that will ever truly repay you for that gift."

"Sure there is," he objected.

"What is it?" _It's yours, whatever it is._

"Just…everything you already do," he shrugged.

Bruce stared at him for a long moment, then yanked him into a tight embrace. "Happy birthday, kiddo," he whispered in his ear. _You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you._

"Thanks," he breathed back. _You're the best thing that could have happened to me after...well. Thanks._ "I love you."

The billionaire all but crushed him. He tried to reply, but his tongue swelled in his mouth. "…The others will be waiting," he said finally.

Dick pulled back and gave him a patient smile. "Yeah, we should go before Wally lights his shoes on fire again."

Recalling that incident from a few months before, the man chuckled. "Yeah. Let's avoid that. I can only listen to Barry complain about sneaker bills so many times."

"…Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?"

"Thank you." He said it with a deadly serious mien, leaving absolutely no doubt about what he was grateful for.

"…Dick, you know I-" he broke off. _Fuck me! Three little words!_

"I know, Bruce," he nodded. "I know."

**Author's Note: So, my muse is very, very bad at giving me a good sense of when a story will, in fact, be over. As such, party day will be stretched over two chapters: the one you just read, and the one I'll be posting tomorrow. Stay tuned, there's more fluff to come (and some really sweet birthday presents)! As always, thanks for reading.**


	28. Chapter 28

Alfred had deemed the formal dining room too somber of an atmosphere for a child's birthday party – _heaven knows there's enough heaviness and austerity in his life already – _and decided to take advantage of the clear skies by setting up a table and chairs in the east drawing room. A wall of tall windows and tilted skylights combined with the airy décor of the long chamber and the artful placement of virtually every living plant in the house to make it feel as if the event were being held outdoors. "…This is gorgeous, Alfred," Leslie, who had arrived just a few minutes earlier, commented as she took it in.

"I thought it more suitable for his character than damask and gilt, is all," the butler demurred. "I'm sure had he not already known that the answer would be negative he would have requested a picnic setting. This was the closest thing I could think of."

"Well, it's lovely," she assured, rounding the large circular table that had been laid with seven bright place settings. "…Is this cast iron? How did you get this in here?"

"The delivery men from the rental store simply rolled it in and unfolded the legs. It's quite convenient; I'm tempted to outright purchase one for summer use out-of-doors."

"…And I should have known there'd be a stack of presents taller than I am," she shook her head with a smile as she surveyed a second surface. "I'd say Bruce is going to spoil him rotten, but I think he might have found one of the few children in the world who would never take what he's given him for granted," she added as she produced a small package from her purse and added it to the pile.

"Indeed, Dr. Thompkins," Alfred nodded gravely.

"…Are you _ever_ going to refer to me by my given name?" she asked, her tone mildly jesting. "We've only known each other for three decades. I would think even the strictest social code would allow for an exception after so long an acquaintance." As she spoke she drew up to him, crossing her arms with a strange look in her eye.

"I daresay, Dr. Thompkins, that at this point one might even go so far as to term it a friendship," the Englishman replied gently. "Nevertheless, I have my reasons for maintaining a certain level of decorum. I mean no offense by my actions, I assure you. If I may be so bold, fear of _causing_ offense is what holds me to the line of civility."

"…You're as stubborn as they are, you know that?" she asked a bit sadly.

"I'm afraid so," he admitted.

"Well…the offer still stands, as it always has," she reminded him before stepping away. "…It's beautiful in here, anyway."

"Yes," he watched her turn from him. "It is."

Neither spoke again until they heard a bevy of voices approaching in the hallway. "Hi, Leslie!" Dick, who was first into the room, exclaimed. Then he paused, eyes widening as he took in the rest of it. "Wow," he breathed. "Alfred, this is _amazing_! It's like being outside!" he squealed, bounding over to throw his arms around the butler's waist.

"I'm very pleased that you like it, young sir," he cupped the back of his head for the barest instant with a gleam of pride in his eyes. Leslie, watching, smiled at the scene. _Is that look for the boy, or the room? _she wondered. _…Maybe both. But I'd wager it's mostly for Dick._

The others entered, all now clad in civilian garb, and Bruce ran through introductions. "…Leslie's in," was all he had to add to make the slightly worried looks on the faces of the unmasked heroes vanish. With the formalities taken care of, movements were made to add gifts to the nearly overflowing table, praise was lauded on Alfred's design for the luncheon space, and everyone took a seat.

"So, what're we eating, birthday boy?" Barry inquired as Alfred vanished to wheel in the food.

"Yeah, what'd you pick?" Wally asked even more eagerly than his uncle.

"Fried chicken," he grinned.

"_Nice_ choice," both speedsters and the Kryptonian said at almost the same time, causing everyone to laugh. Even Bruce smiled.

Glancing over at his friend once everyone had begun eating, Dick found the redhead tearing into a drumstick with his fingers. Everyone else, himself included, was using a knife and fork, but their concentration was so riveted on the wrestling the meat from the bone with utensils that conversation had ceased. "…Alfred?" he asked.

"Yes, Master Dick?" he was at his side instantly, bending down.

"…On a scale of one to ten, with one being totally okay with it and ten being me not getting anything but…" he gulped, "…cheese grits for breakfast next week, how angry would you be if I asked if we could eat our chicken with our fingers?"

Beside him, Wally froze. "…Wait, how else do you even _eat_ fried chicken?" He stared around the table and found the adults, now all listening in, with silverware hovering over their plates. "Oh," he blushed, quickly trying to wipe his hands clean. "Sorry."

"Waaaally," Barry groaned as the others stifled chuckles.

"…Given that today is your birthday celebration, young sir," the butler answered with a magnanimous if slightly pained expression, "You and your guests are free to eat your chicken however you like."

"Thanks, Alfred," he beamed, immediately setting his fork and knife down. After a second everyone else around the table followed his lead, abandoning their silverware with relief. Bruce was slightly behind the others, and he shot the not-quite-wincing Englishman a mildly apologetic look before he too succumbed. _Sorry, Alfred, but he's got a point;_ _fried chicken is damned hard to eat with anything but bare hands_. _And it's definitely not as fun._

"…I totally owe you one, bro," Wally whispered gratefully.

"It's cool," Dick waved it off. "Good chicken."

"Mm-hmm."

The talk swelled back up after that, most of it the joyous, joking type of babbling that had been exactly what the boy's ears had craved. Leslie quickly fell into the comfortable chatter, any inhibitions she might have felt at first fading away as she remembered that, according to Alfred, the others all knew about Bruce's alter ego and pursued similar goals. For their part, the others welcomed her into their palaver; if Batman, by far the most paranoid and guarded of all of them, trusted her, then they could as well.

Of those seated at the table, only Bruce stayed relatively silent, chewing slowly and watching the others. _He does this to people,_ he thought, his concentration switching back and forth between the talk of the other four adults and the low, boyish discussions taking place beside him. _He brings them together in a way no one else does. I would never have invited half of these people into my house until a few months ago, let alone invited them to an informal lunch. Leslie might never have met any of the other Leaguers were it not for today, and although Barry gets along with most people, he's not one to search for a reason to spend leisure time with either Clark or Diana. Diana's been upstairs before, but none of those situations were lighthearted ones in the least. And yet here they all are, laughing and joking like…like normal civilians. Like we've all been friends for years, and this is something we do every Saturday._ _If he can do this sort of thing now, he's going to be one hell of a leader someday._ A proud little smile inched its way across his lips as he considered that. His arm snuck across the back of Dick's chair, its purpose not to distract him from where he was leaning in towards Wally so some whispered message could be passed along but merely to serve as a tacit sign of possession.

After everyone was fit to burst on Alfred's excellent chicken, potatoes, and greens, the butler suggested that the new ten-year-old open the gifts his visitors had brought for him so that there was some time to digest before cake. Each present earned a squeak of delight from the boy who in previous years had been accustomed to receiving little more than a firm pat on the back and good wishes from his birthday guests. When it came down to the last two other than the avalanche-in-waiting from Bruce, he had a hard time choosing which to open first. Finally he opted for a large package addressed 'From Alfred' and tore into it excitedly.

"No way!" he cried out as the paper yielded to reveal a handsome leather case that held a custom-made trick kite and a multitude of accessories.

"And in Robin's colors," Bruce smirked, looking on.

"Well, the kite is nowhere near as agile as the actual Robin," Alfred said, accepting his second hug in as many hours from his younger charge, "but I imagine it will be some fun despite that."

"_Some_ fun?! More like a ridiculously huge amount of fun." Dick gave the older man such a bright smile that for a minute afterwards the sun streaming through the windows couldn't quite pick up the slack. "…Wally, dude, we _totally_ have to try this out before you leave."

"_Totally!_"

"Perhaps you should save it for next weekend, when the ground is a bit less soggy," the Englishman advised.

"Oh. So…you're saying Wally can come over next weekend?" he asked slyly.

"I made no such promise, young sir," he couldn't quite bite back his amusement.

"I'm fine with it," Barry threw in. "Saturday night would be best. Iris wants to go to some concert and is dragging me along. You're cheaper than a babysitter, Bruce," he joked.

"We'll talk about it when I see your math test," the billionaire informed his son after rolling his eyes at the elder speedster.

"We got them back yesterday. I got a 98," he returned fire.

_Well of course you did. _"…Then I don't see a problem."

"Yay!"

"Sweet!" The boys bumped fists, drawing a little 'aww' from Diana.

"…_What_?" she demanded when every male in the room turned to look at her oddly. Only Leslie looked undisturbed by her exhalation. "It was cute!"

"…Diana, it's a bro-fist, not a puppy," Barry explained. "It's not _cute_. It's…" he flailed his hands. "It's not cute," he repeated.

"Call it a bonding ritual," Bruce contributed.

"Yeah. It's that," Barry nodded vigorously.

The two females exchanged a glance. "I thought it was cute, too," Leslie admitted.

"Women," Barry looked towards the ceiling, shaking his head.

"Men," Diana shot back, crossing her arms.

"Last present before cake!" Dick interjected before a gender war could erupt.

_Clever little bird,_ Bruce crowed silently as the paper was torn off of a small box. _…Well. You actually went out and did it,_ he thought when he saw what the gift was._ I'm kind of surprised, Clark. _

"…Okay, process of elimination means that's from you, Clark, which makes it hilarious," Barry opined as he realized the boy was holding a Batman nightlight.

"Is this okay, though?" the child asked anxiously, looking up at his guardian. "I mean, isn't it risky? What if someone sees?" _I really, really want to keep it, it's the one I wanted to start with and I __know__ you're still jealous of the Superman one – after all, you glare at it every night when you tuck me in – but not if it's dangerous. Not if it will give us away._

"We discussed all that before the purchase was approved," he ruffled his hair as he read the intense concern in his wide eyes. "Half the kids in Gotham have Batman nightlights, based on the sales figures I saw. So…it's safe."

"I didn't know your company made nightlights," Leslie frowned.

"We don't."

"Then how did you see the sales figures for…do you know what? Never mind. I don't think I want to know," she decided.

"Probably a good idea."

"Batman does corporate espionage?" Barry inquired.

"He does what needs done," came back a bit shortly. "And right now," he went on, seeing Alfred coming in with a very large covered platter on a cart, "what needs done is for _someone_ to get ready to cut dessert. That would be you, chum."

The heavy dish was set down in front of him. "Ready, Master Dick?" the butler asked, both hands preparing to lift the high, mirrored dome away.

"…Yes!" His jaw dropped, as did those of half the others present, when the dessert came into view. Even Wally went completely still for a brief moment. "…Holy cake," the birthday boy whispered.

"…That turned out even better than I thought it would," Bruce commented as they all took in the sight of an elephant standing with its trunk raised.

"How did you even _do_ that?" Dick gasped.

"Many, many layers, and a fair bit of outright luck," Alfred's lip twitched upwards as he noted that only his elder charge and Leslie looked unsurprised by the fact that he'd managed to create such a realistic-looking confection.

"Next on 'Cake Boss: Gotham,'" Barry intoned, "can Alfred create jungle friends for his world-class elephant? Stay tuned to find out."

"Savanna friends," Dick said without thinking. "This is an African elephant, you can tell by the ears…Oh. Sorry," he blushed, realizing he'd just corrected an adult a bit brusquely. "I wasn't trying to be rude."

"Hey, I was wrong," the speedster shrugged good-naturedly, looking amused. "You're the elephant expert at the table, not me."

"…Alfred, I don't know if I can cut this."

"It's almost too pretty to eat," Diana agreed.

"…Well, you know, three-legged elephants can still walk and stuff," Wally suggested, staring at the sugar feast. "So maybe we could just eat a leg? We could even make him a prosthetic if you want, bro."

"I took plenty of pictures before bringing it in, Master Dick, if that's your concern."

"No, no, it's not that – although that's really cool, that way we always know how crazy awesome this cake is – I just…it's so realistic looking that I'd feel bad if I cut it," he admitted bashfully. "I couldn't hurt a real elephant, so…can you, um, do that part for me? Maybe…maybe somewhere where I don't have to see it happen?"

"Of course, young sir," Alfred nodded understandingly, lifting the platter away and rolling it towards the back of the room. Keeping himself between the table and his work area, he quickly dished portions out, then covered the now decidedly less whole creature back up to avoid any accidental viewings of the damaged creature.

After 'Happy Birthday' was sung and two rounds of dessert had been downed – the elephant tasted as good as it had looked – Bruce cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "I know we agreed that you would wait until later to open your other presents in the interest of, ah, time," he said, throwing a look towards the mountain of items behind him, "but there is _one_ thing I want to give you before everyone leaves. I just wanted you to see the cake before I brought it up."

"Okay," Dick said quizzically.

"Alfred and I arranged a little something for you at the zoo this afternoon."

"At…at the zoo?" a grin started to spread across his lips. "What is it?"

"Your annual elephant ride, of course. I mean, I know it's not the _right_ elephant, but…it's _an_ elephant. Will that work for you?"

"A _real_ elephant, right?" he breathed excitedly. _It won't be Eleanor, but it will still be kind of like riding her. And I really __do__ miss riding the elephants…_

"A real, live elephant."

He bit his lip. "Can Wally come, too?" he ventured.

"…Bro, you are so awesome right now," an awed whisper came from behind him.

"I figured you'd ask that. That's why I wanted to tell you about it before anyone left. And yes, we informed the handler that there might be two riders." Dick was in his arms at that, and this time it wasn't just feminine voices that cooed.

"Best. Birthday. Ever," the boy said fiercely.

* * *

Both Leslie and Diana had to bow out of the field trip due to previous engagements, so two hours later the four men found themselves standing on the edge of a wide, sawdust-covered training area, watching the boys circle around over and over again. The handler stood a distance away, observing but doing little else. Dick had demonstrated from the moment he met the giant creature on whose back he was currently perched that he knew what he was doing when it came to elephants. The zoo employee had admitted after only a few minutes that the kid was a pro, and had stepped back to let him go.

"…Is there a time limit on this? Because they've been up there for, like, an hour," Barry mentioned.

"I'm not telling him to come down off of that elephant until he's good and ready," Bruce said flatly. _I'll stand here all night if I have to. He's happy up there. He's had a good day – thank god he didn't break down like he did at Christmas, although the fact that this wasn't technically his first birthday with us no doubt contributed to that – and I'm not putting that to a premature end unless I absolutely have to._

"Hey, it's cool," the speedster raised his hands, picking up on the mild threat in the other man's voice. "No rush. I was just curious."

"I believe I'll have a seat on that small set of stands behind us," Alfred announced.

"Mind company?" Barry asked, his feet beginning to hurt. _I shouldn't have gone all the way to Tierra del Fuego on my training run this morning,_ he lamented. _That was a bit of a stretch. I'll stick to North America tomorrow._

"Not in the least, Mister Allen."

The two trailed off, leaving Bruce and Clark alone. "Here," the billionaire passed over a folded check after a minute. "I meant to give this to you before you left Tuesday, but I forgot."

"Bruce, I told you I don't want it," the Kryptonian refused.

"Clark, don't piss me off. Not today. Just take the damn check."

"I won't cash it, you know," he sighed, accepting the paper.

"That's up to you. I just want to know that I gave it to you."

_I wonder…_ He opened it. "This is _way_ more than I spent," he protested.

"Plane fare two ways, four days of lost wages, and what you spent during two separate grocery trips."

"I used frequent flyer miles both ways, I took paid vacation, and the grocery store purchases were minimal. I know you knew all that, so why is this check for such a large amount? I don't even want to know how you found out my salary and how much I spent on groceries. To the penny," he observed, looking at the check again. "Typical."

_Goddamn it, Clark. _"Clark…even with Dick, with whom I am far more open than I am with anyone else, there are still…certain things…that I can't say. That I can't even think. The only way I know to try and make up for the fact that I can't quite manage to spit out how I actually feel half the time is money. And I know that's crass and shallow, but…look, just think of it as an hourly babysitting wage, if that helps. But I'm not taking it back." _It's more than just a check, for me,_ he added silently, his eyes never leaving the lithe figure that was radiating happiness from up on the elephant's shoulders.

"…That's incredibly sad, Bruce," he said quietly, stunned. "And incredibly flattering." As he spoke he re-folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "…I'll cash it when I get home."

"Good."

"…There's something else."

"What?"

"This." He held out the jump drive onto which he'd saved and organized all of the Flying Grayson videos he'd found online. "I wasn't sure when would be a good time to give it to you, but…this seems pretty apropos."

"What is it?" he frowned, taking it. _It can't be a mission, he wouldn't hand me something like that in a public venue._

"Dick's childhood."

His fingers clenched tightly around the small piece of plastic. "…What?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Clark explained. "The night after he and I watched Madagascar 3, I spent a couple of hours looking up videos of him and his parents performing. I was curious," he said defensively. "…They were spectacular. All three of them, together. I always knew that what happened was a tragedy, don't get me wrong, but…that was more than just murder. Zucco took something beautiful and irreplaceable out of the world that night. I…I had no idea. It helped me understand, Bruce. It really did. You sat there, and you saw that, and I _know_ you felt the same way. And I know why you had to salvage what you could that night, and why you've continued to…well. The point is, I get it now.

"That drive has videos from the first night his parents took him up on a trapeze during a performance through a couple of weeks before they died. There's a lot of them, and they aren't all just trapeze, but they're all of him. He's a baby in the first few, but he grows up fast. Anyway…I thought you might like to see some of those moments that you didn't get to be there for."

…_That check wasn't nearly big enough,_ Bruce thought, swallowing hard. "…Zucco screwed up that night," he said softly. "He got most of the act, but not the truly important part. He didn't get the soul." He paused. "_I_ did."

"I'd believe that in an instant." He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And Bruce?" he added.

"…Yeah?"

"John and Mary Grayson themselves couldn't have chosen anyone better to pick up where they left off. Remember that, if you can."

He swallowed so hard it hurt. _Thanks, Clark._

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed the story! Thank you so much for going on this little adventure with me. Your dedicated reading and many reviews are my inspiration. **

**A little housekeeping: A reviewer asked yesterday if I was going to follow up on Clark's concerns about Gobblehead. I will, just in a short (probably a three-shot) piece set a few weeks after this story. **

**In terms of the next long story in this universe, that should start up in a week or so, with some smaller things being posted between now and then, both in this universe and outside of it. I'm stepping back a bit in the next story and covering Dick's earliest days at the manor, up through his becoming Robin. The story will be called 'Firework.'**

**For those of you who have been reading 'A Spot of Tea,' there will be a new one-shot tomorrow. **

**Happy reading!**


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